


Every woman deserves a crown, be it gold or be it tin

by Ava626



Series: The crown series [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And More Angst, And maybe some comfort, Angst, F/M, M/M, Please mind the warnings!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13146633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ava626/pseuds/Ava626
Summary: Part III of the Crown series, so more Thorin and Emma (yay!). This part starts roughly 26 years after the ending of part II and there will be greater time lapses.





	1. Beginnings I

**Author's Note:**

> I am so happy to finally be able to put up the first chapter of the final part of the Crown series! This story has been in my head for so long, but somehow I couldn't find the words to write it down. Perhaps I didn;t want it all to end....  
> I hope you'll enjoy this, and I wish you all a merry christmas!

It was early spring, but the northern part of Middle Earth seemed to have missed the news that the storms should come to an end. Rain pelted down, seemingly without an end, and the days much resembled the nights as steelgrey clouds blocked every ray of light. The normally well travelled roads had become near empty and the disuse had caused them to turn into a mud in which everything got stuck, be it horse, man or cart. The farmers of Dale despaired, their fears of a ruined harvest coming closer to becoming reality with every drop of rain that fell.

Most of the people stayed inside, waiting for better weather. Yet one man had ventured out, trudging through a landscape that seemed almost purple with the coming thunder. Leaving Dale on his left, he went to the more rocky terrain that preluded the Lonely Mountain. Had anyone been watching, they would have seen that when he neared the entrance of Erebor, he sat down on one of the many boulders that lay there, and watched the grey stone dwarves that symbolically guarded the inhabitants and riches inside the mountain. They would also see that the man was in reality a dwarf, though a tall one. Lastly, if they really paid attention, they would see he was fidgetting with a ring, twisting it around his finger. But no one seemed to be watching, so the dwarf’s nearing on Erebor went fairly unnoticed. Not even the guards at the gate gave him more than a passing glance.

It wasn’t untill he took a stairs leading up to the higher levels that he was starting to get noticed. The guards there saw his somewhat haggard appearance; worn-out shoes, dirty clothes and braids that were about to fall out. When he wanted to take a second stairs, he was stopped. He was asked about his name, where he wanted to go and why, but all the man did was show a ring. Appearantly that was enough, as the guards let him pass with a small bow and a suspicious glare.

 

X-O-X-O

There was one that had seen him, had noticed his nearing and arrival. She had been standing on her balcony, using the deluge to clear her mind of everything, of all that passed around her without any chance of having influence on it. And now this, this man’s arrival. It had always hung over her head, and now it came to be. She wondered if it was the terrifying end or the relief of a fear that always lingered somewhere in the back of her mind.

 

X-O-X-O

He had not seen his adad for 26 years. 26 birthays without a hug from, what he remembered, the strongest arms on the broadest shoulders. 26 years without an affectionately whispered ‘inudoy’ in his ear when no one was around. Instead he had had 26 years of bodily sickness and mental madness around him.

And now he stood in front of _the_ door. The door he had always dreamed of casually entering without a second thought. The door he had wished was for him, his door. But now that he stood in front of it, now that he had a chance to walk through it and not be met with disapproval, he hesitated.

He had been the one to say he did not want to return to Erebor. His amad had been ill, so ill that her passing was feared for every day. In that state, he had not want to leave her. Yet her condition hadn’t changed, not for good and not for worse, and so he had stayed in an odd sort of decisiveness, neither here nor there. Letters had been exchanged, of course, in which his adad was so eager, so willing to find an explanation of everything. But he hadn’t been able to, he could only lay blame at his own feet.

Would his adad now do the same? Would his reception be lukewarm, obligation instead of the willingness on paper? When he heard raised voices, speaking up in what no doubt was anger, on the other side of the door, he stepped back and sat in one of the alcoves in the corridor. Again stuck in decisiveness.


	2. Beginnings II

When the door was roughly opened and then slammed shut in such a way that it was absolutely clear that the person entering was very, very angry, Emma came in from the balcony and looked at her husband. Thorin was clenching and unclenching his fists and looking around as if searching for something to either throw or punch.

The evening had started out as every Friday evening: family dinner. Thorin, Emma, Stone, Mellin, Threrin, Elrin, Dis, Fili and Sigrid and their children Bali, Fain, Nehili, Dili, Thirzi and Siri and finally Kili, Tauriel and Lind, all sitting at the table together. It would have been quite pleasant were it not that between the oxtail soup and the pumpkin bites, Dwalin had stormed in.

Dwalin’s entrance in any room always made a certain amount of noise. First there was his ever present armour that always seemed to clanker and clammer, then there was his voice that always seemed to boom over everything else, and lastly there was a certain amount of gruffness that made that Dwalin stumped when other people walked and he threw open and close doors instead of just opening and closing them like other people did. But this time it was different. When the door opened, Emma was fairly certain that the doorhandle left a dent in the wall due to the force, and Dwalin didn’t just speak in his normally loud voice, no, this time he shouted. When Dwalin limped towards Stone, crassly cursing in Khuzdul, even Thorin had needed a moment to gather his courage before standing between his military advisor and his son and heir.

The limp hadn’t made Dwalin’s appearance less impressive, as it would with other men, but rather enhanced his image of battle hardened warrior. But he hadn’t gotten his leg injury in battle, but rather in rescue of the man he was now yelling at. When they were around 11, Stone and Dwalin’s son Dillin had decided on a rainy and boring afternoon that an adventure was exactly what they needed. Convinced that enemies could be found in the deep mineshafts on the lower levels that were no longer in use, that’s where they headed. What the two boys hadn’t taken into account was that the shafts were in disuse for a reason. When Stone hadn’t been home for supper, Emma had gone to every of his friends houses, many a family startled by an unannounced visit from a very agitated queen. When it then turned out Dillin was also missing, all of Erebor was called away from their dinners, from the highest lord to the lowest miner, in search of the two boys.

It were Dwalin and Bifur that found them, deep within the mines, behind a wall of stone caused by a collapse of the unreliable ceilings of the poorly braced walls of an unprofiatble mine. Stone and Dillin made it out unscathed. Bifur lost his life and Dwalin the functional use of his left leg. Yet Thorin’s closest friend had never complained, been angry, blamed anyone or treated Stone differently. He just never spoke of it again.

Now, as he stood at their dinnertable yelling and cursing to heavens and hells, Emma thought that this was how he should have acted back then. He should have let his anger out and show the two boys what the consequences of their actions were. But he hadn’t, and Stone and Dillin had always been a tad bit irresponsible.

What she could make of Dwalin’s words was that, possibly, Stone had taken a lot more liberties with Dirin, Dwalin’s daughter, than he should have. Appearantly they had been seen in a tavern by Bofur, a regular visitor of taverns even at his age, while Dillin was having fun with one of the waitresses and Stone’s hand was up Dirin’s skirt as his mouth was glued to hers.

As everyone yelled, in general or at eachother, Emma sighed. This was the problem with dwarves: their bodies were grown before it was deemed acceptable to marry and purity before marriage was expected, for girls at least. Boys only got in trouble when caught, like Stone. There was nothing she could add to the discussion, not when everyone was screaming at least, and she believed this particular subject to be Thorin’s responsability. So she left to feel the coolness of the never ending rain on her skin and taste the freedom the wind promised.

And there, as the elements whirled around her, she saw him: Ferin. Even though she had given him two more sons, Thorin had taken years to get over the fact that she had sent him and his mother away. And just when the anger seemed to cool down, it flamed back up when Ferin didn’t come back to Erebor when he was twelve. Jessa was appearantly very ill and Ferin had not wanted to be separated from her. _This too shall pass_ she had thought to herself back then, but it hadn’t and neither had Jessa. And so it came to be that Thorin was separated from his firstborn and the name ‘Ferin’ could not be spoken without Thorin brooding for days.

But now her stepson, at least that was what she believed him to be, was back in Erebor. If he ever got off that rock and walk through the frontgate, that was. Thorin would be happy, certainly, and her own sons would probably like someone to include in the little gang that most of the sons of the members of Thorin’s Company were part of. But Emma feared that old grudges would resurface and Thorin’s anger would once again be aimed at her.

The slamming of her bedroomdoor made the pending confrontation nly the more real, so Emma walked into the room and looked at her husband. “Your son is here.” She simply said, life having taught her that sometimes one just had to go with the waves instead of fighting them.

“Yes, I know my son is here!” Thorin nearly yelled. He took a deep breath, no doubt to resume his tirade, but then looked more grim. “Perhaps we should foster him in the Grey Hills. I’m sure your uncle Rykar could knock some sense into the boy!”

Emma sighed. She did not want to have this discussion again, she had refused to send her sons away for so many times she had lost count, and untill now she had always won. But she knew that right now, she wouldn’t and Thorin would send Stone away from her. “Not that son. Not _my_ son, but yours.”

Thorins head jerked up, his eyes piercing and his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?!”

“I mean that Ferin is here, in Erebor. I would have expected him to be knocking on the door by now”

Thorin asked no more, instead marching back out the door he just came in through.

 

X-O-X-O

He had wanted to ask the guards if Ferin had been seen somewhere, but instead he found a small silhouette huddled in one of the alcoves. He wanted to hug him, hold him tightly to his chest and never let him go, but he realised that there must be some reason Ferin hadn’t just made his presence known. So he slowly sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulder.

“You’re finally here, inudoy” he whispered, and then revelled in the feeling of his son leaning his head against his chest.


	3. Beginnings III

His adad had gotten old, his hair more grey than black and lines marring his already dour face. In his mind his adad had always stayed the same as that morning when he gave him his first braids and beads and his sapphire ring, but of course had had aged, like everyone had. Except for his stepmother; she seemed to look the same as ever, with that unreadable expression on her face. Ferin had seen elves once, at Dain’s court. They had come on some diplomatic mission, and Dain had thought it good for Ferin’s training that he be preent at the dinner. Those elves had the same expression Emma had always had in his mind and it made him a bit uncomfortable. Having a stepfather whoms moods were as unpredictable as his ravings about the voices that only seemed to be real in his head, Ferin liked knowing what to expect from people, liked to know how they were feeling. With most dwarves, that was easy; they wore their minds on their sleeves if not on their expressions. But Emma didn’t, as far as he could remember. All he knew about her was what his amad had told him, which made her the offspring of Sauron, and what he had heard from court whispers, what made her something between the mightiest of queens and a common bastard.

Thankfully, he could put off meeting her again for a little longer. His adad had came to sit next to him, whispering the words he had longed to hear for most of his life. And when he had started to shiver in his wet clothes, Thorin had taken him to the apartment next to his own, presumably where his stepbrothers lives, judging by the things lying around.

There, wrapped in a warm blanket and sipping some tea one of the servants had brought, his adad had taken his chin and looked at his face intently. “You look like a Durin” he had said with a smile, bringing Ferin more warmth that the blanket and the tea together.

They sat in silence for a while after that, a companionable, comfortable silence that felt natural to them both. It was broken only when Ferin put the teacup down and looked at Thorin. “I want to talk to you, Thorin. Talk seriously.”

The king of Erebor nodded solemnly and for a moment Ferin feared he had overstepped. Perhaps his demand for a conversation was too much, or perhaps he wasn’t supposed to adress his fatherby his first name. But then Thorin got up and started rummaging around a cabinet that stood in the corner. “I’m sure they have it hidden here somewhere” he muttered, and when a side of the cabinet sprung open, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey with a triumphant ‘Aha’.

After having poured two glasses and put the bottle between them on the table, Thorin sat back down. “Now we shall speak.”

“Amad is dead” Ferin mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed by Thorin’s undivided and formal attention. Immediately he saw his father’s tentative smile falter. “I know” Thorin said with a sad note in his voice. “I’ve sent gold for her burial”.

Ferin also nodded, now knowing where the sudden oppulence of his mother’s last resting place in the stone came from. They received a monthly income from Dain of course, his mother being married with the bastard of the king of the Iron Hills, but that sum would not have been able to cover to gold plated stone box his mother was laid in, nor the golden lettering on it or the jewels that were buried with her.

Frerin took a large gulp of his drink and then looked at his father again. “Did you love her?” He couldn’t help the tiniest bit of defiance in his tone, nor the somewhat angry expression on his face.

Yet his father didn’t seem to take offence, instead he seemed to look a little repentant, his gaze on his hands. “I cared for her.” The king under the mountain confessed. “I cared for her very much.”

“But you cared for Emma more.” Ferin said, a statement but also a question.

Thorin nodded. “Aye, I cared for Emma more.”

“Amad said Emma—“ Ferin started, but his father interrupted him. “A lot of things have happened between your mother and Emma, Ferin. None of them good. So don’t just take the things your amad has said as the undivided truth, nor any other things, good or bad, you’ve heard about my wife. Just get to know her and make up your own mind.”

It wasn’t bad advice, it was honest, but there was one fact that Thorin couldn’t deny, and that would have a great influence on Ferin’s possible stay here. So he just asked “But Emma sent us away. She sent me away from you.”

Again Thorin nodded without getting angry at the impertinent questions. “Aye. She sent your amad away. The situation between them was --  well, let’s say it was difficult. I decided you were to stay with your amad untill you were twelve, and then return to me.”

Ferin felt they were getting around what he wanted to hear, though he wasn’t sure himself what words would satifsy him. “Amad was ill!” he protested loudly “She was ill because of you! She died because of you!”

He had not meant to make it sound so angry, so full of resentment, but somehow it came out like that. He also hadn’t meant for his eyes to tear up, but he also could’t help that when he thought of his mother’s suffering.

His father got up, almost angrily wiping his eyes and staring out into the window into the dark world around the Lonely Mountain. It truth, Thorin hadn’t hated Jessa the way Emma did, and he hadn’t found her annoying like Dwalin had or dimwitted like Kili had and he certainly hadn’t thought of her as just a plaything to occupy his time. He had seen a side of her that no one else had, a side that needed protection, needed care and help. And a part of him had wanted to give it to her, keep her with him for always, safely tucked away under his arm. But the biggest part of his heart had pulled him in another direction and that decision had formed his life into what it was now.

He had thought a lot of his mistress in the past years. Many times he had almost travelled to the Iron Hills, to see her and Ferin again. But he couldn’t. Not only because Dain remained crossed at him for what Emma had done to Durer, though no one still knew what exactly, but also because it would threathen the vulnerable balance his life was. The balance between him and Emma, the balance between the three dwarven kingdoms of the north, the balance within his family, and last but not least the balance between what he believed his respnsabilities and what was wrong and right. And now, though he would not admit it, he regretted his choice of staying in Erebor and waiting.

“She could only think of you and her heart was broken when she was sent to live with Durer. That’s what she died of,a broken heart!”

His sons reproaches cut right into the center of Thorin’s pain, and for a moment he wanted to turn around and yell untill there was no one around him anymore, no one to make him feel even worse than he already did, no one to blame him, no one to hurt him. But he didn’t. Because Ferin was probably as hurt, if not more, as he was, and he was at least in part responsible for that.

“Ferin I – I can’t do this. Not now. I will speak of you about anything, anything you like, but not your mother.”

His son nodded and pured himself another glass of whiskey, downing it and repeating the process. Only after that, and when Thorin had sat back down, could Ferin look at his father again. “Where am I to go?” he asked.

Thorin frowned. “What do you mean ‘where am I to go’?’”

“I mean” Ferin started, trying to hold his somewhat unsteady tongue under control, “You have seen a lot of the world, where is there a place for me? Where can someone like me go?”

His father looked agast. Angry, sad, disbelieving and outraged at the same time. “Here, of course!” he nearly yelled. “Here is a place you can go! Here is the place you belong! Where else would you—“

Thorin’s rant, born from care and love but perhaps expressed somewhat crass, was interrupted by loud sobs coming from Ferin, muffled by the arms he had laid his head in on the table. The confusion of his faith, the sadness of the loss of his mother and the feelings around seeing his adad again all came out at the same time, and he could not help himself, perhaps influenced a bit by the drinks he had had. It only got wore when Thorin slided his chair closer to him and put an arm around him, not saying anything, not telling him to stop, just being there.


	4. Beginnings IV

Thorin had woken up by the watery rising of the sun that morning. Sleeping in a chair reminded hi he wasn’t young anymore; his back hurt, his neck felt like it was on backwarts and his right leg was cramping. But somehow he felt lighter, younger than he had done for a long time. Looking to his right, he saw his oldest son, still sleeping in the chair. With a groan he got up and took a blanket from Threrin’s bed and draped it over Frerin.

 

X-O-X-O

 

He watched her as she watched, like the hunter becoming prey. Unbothered by the other spectators whom stood on the edge of the balcony over the fighting pits, leaving a respectable space between her and them, he looked at her with what seemed like new eyes. Even after 32 years of marriage the sight of his wife could still take his breath away. She was chewing on her cheek, like she still aways did when she was nervous, and fiddling with a button of her dress. Also something she still did when she was nervous.  Some things never changed, and would always show him the girl he got as his bride.

Other things just seemed to have evolved. As she leaned on the balcony and looked down, he saw some of those changes inked into her left arm like they formed a sleeve. It started at her wrist and told the story of the highlights of her life. On the top of her arm more and more flowers became visible, which ran over her shoulder and carried names written in Khuzdul over her spine. His name stood there, their sons names, and of course Melo’s. Further down, hidden under her dress, he knew the names of her elvish relatives decorated the left side of her ribs.

The first time he saw the drawings she had made for the massive tattoo, he had wanted to laugh at her flowers. So terribly undwarfish. But the more he looked at them, the more they made sense. She wasn’t a dwarf, not fully, yet she had managed to carve out her own place. Where dwarves were as rock, unyielding and only changeable by decades upon decades of water seeping over it, and elves were like vines, always bending around obstacles, Emma was like a tree. With a fixed place, but with time she could bend in suprising directions. And so she had done. He had bent and twisted to find a place here. A place amongst her family and a few close friends.

What was the real calling in her life however was not ruling, nor her social life. It was her sons. He had seen the example of his own mother, of Jessa, of Dis, Dina and countless other women. But he never saw the complete  and selfless sacrifice of self that Emma had made. But the biggest thing she had given up in the whole process was her image of confidence. Thorin knew of course how often she doubted, but she had never shown it, not voluntarily. But with their boys, she could not hold up that attitude, it was too heavy for her, weighed her down too much. And so Thorin had found her countless nights, staring out the window, worrying about one thing or the other, just as she did now. He wondered if she would be some semblance of a mother to Frerin, if she would also care for his son, worry for him and gently guide him to the right way, as she did with her own sons. Or if she would punish the child for the sins of his parents.

But that was a worry for later. First, he needed to know how  Stone and Mell were coming along. They were about to come of age and with that came a coming of age ceremony. A test for them to prove they were worthy. Worthy to be seen as full members of their race, worthy to be deemed warriors and worthy to be heirs to the throne. The throne of Erebor for Stone and the throne of the Grey Hills for Mell. With such responsabilities to come, their test could not just be a formality, it had to be real. The plan was to go into the hills and see what foes could be found. Thorin almost chuckled outloud when he realized that these coming of age tests were not only to be a test for his sons, but alsof or him. He could not step in, could not interfere, but had to follow commands for once, no matter the outcome.

“Why do you feel the need to watch me from the shadows, Thorin?” He suddenly heard her say in a rather annoyed tone of voice.

Swiftly he got up and stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. He felt her take in another big breath to yell, and pulled her back.

“They are doing well.” He whispered in her ear. “And that means something, coming from me.”

She turned around to him, and from the asinine look on her face he knew she wasn’t placated nor amused. “It isn’t good enough!” she hissed, and then walked away with big, angry paces, down the stairs and into the training pits. Thorin had learned the hard way and knew when to back down. Mostly every bad mood involving their children meant he had to back down…..

“That is _not_ how you fight multiple attackers, Mellin.” Emma barked at Mellin, a sound that would have made most grown men take a step back. But not their sons. They had found a way to bend their mother’s worry and fussing and never took it too seriously. They poked fun at her, gave her bear hugs and a kiss and then  went on their way. Mellin was the only one that sometimes tried to appease her when she was in her overly protective mood, when she tried to keep them as small as they had been when they were just born.

Yet now he smirked, amused by the idea that his tiny, frail mother would know more about swordfighting than his adad and their trainers. “Isn’t it, amad? Then what should I do?” he asked innocently, evoking an amused grin from Stone and causing the trainers to take a few steps back.

Quickly Emma turned around to her oldest and squinted her eyes. “Is there something funny, _Thorin_?”

The heir to the throne of Erebor visibly swallowed, alerted to his mother’s  displeasure by her use of his real first name, and the shook his head. This gained him a small nod from his Emma, whom then picked up two training swords from the side of the sandy pit, seemingly unbothered by the wide skirts and tight bodess of her dress. Casually she walked back to stand between Stone and Mell, and then looked up at the balcony. “Threrin, Elrin, come down.”

Emma’s youngest two sons had also been watching from the side balcony, talking with the girls that had come there to watch their older brothers, laughing at Stone and Mell’s antics. Yet now they didn’t look so amused anymore. They sent the admirers away, evoking more than a few disappointed pouts. Their steps were seemingly hesitant as they walked down the stairs and joined their mother and brothers as requested in the small pit, sensing this wasn’t fun anymore.

Thorin also knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt; his sons were going to get the beating of a lifetime. Luckily for them not in front of admiring girls that believed they were the epithomy of dwarvenhood; perfect examples of how dwarves were supposed to be. An opinion about the boys that was usually shared by their mother, an ever doting presence.

But not now. Emma had never trained with them, or let them watch her training. When Thorin had asked about it, she had waved away his questions and changed the subject so he had never been sure why exactly. He believed there were two reasons most likely; she was either afraid she would hurt them or she feared denting their egos.

The silence was broken by Emma’s strict tone: “Observe how it is supposed to be done, Mellin.” She nodded at the other three to attack her.

They hesitantly did, looking at her sheepishly and then lifting their sword and swinging at her slowly. The first one to fall under his understimation was Stone. He did not take her seriously whatsoever, such was clear from the lazy swing of his hammer. Thorin had been proud when his heir chose a hammer for his main weapon, it had reminded him of his father. Yet such a mighty weapon did not save him now, as Emma hit his unprotected ribs with her sword rather hard, immediately followed by a blow to Threrin’s back. When both boys grunted out, their hands pressed against the hurt areas, Emma turned to a pail looking Mellin and said dryly:

“The advantage of attacking with multiple people is only gained when attacking at the same time. That is however also the disadvantage, as you’ll be getting in eachother’s way.”  She then turned back to his brothers “Again.” She ordered.

This time the three sons of Durin showed a little more daring, but their manouvres were rewarded with biting blows of Emma’s swords again and again, untill they lay on the ground, panting and looking rather pained, while Emma still stood, unharmed and not looking the littlest bit tired.

“Now you.” She told Mellin.

Thorin had expected that she would go easy on him; she always did. Somehow she was a tiny bit more carefull with her second son, trying to spare his feelings and keeping him away from the stern talks Thorin gave their sons when they misbehaved. She seemed to know what Mellin needed best; not that she favoured him, but their connection seemed strongest. Now however, it seemed Emma was losing her temper, as she was unrelenting in her fight with Mell. Thorin even winced when he saw the side of his son’s knee being hit right before she went for his elbow. Yet it seemed there was little Mell could do to defend himself. She was just too fast, too quick, her movements too fluid and elusive. Thorin wondered how she had gotten so good and, though he doubted it, if he himself could beat her in such a fight.

When Mellin was finally lying on the ground and made no move to get up, it was finally over. Emma looked down at him. “As you can see, Mellin, this is no laughing matter. Make sure you improve.”

And with that she walked away. Thorin hesitated for a moment, but then decided not to follow her. He would introduce the boys to their half-brother so they could all get to know eachother and he would have some time to talk to his wife.


	5. Beginnings V

Emma was sitting on the sofa in front of the hearth, staring into the flames and her mind seemingly miles away. Her oldest son had taken some slow paces into the room, but then hesitated. His amad never gotten really upset with him or his brothers. Sure, sometimes she had given them a lecture, or sent them to their rooms when they were younger. But he had always seen her love and forgiveness sparkling in her eyes. But today, her eyes weren’t so kind. Today, something had seemed different.

“Do you have something to say, Stone, or are you going to keep standing there?”

The annoying thing about his amad is that she always heard everything. It didn’t matter how quiet he was, she always heard. But he wasn’t about to linger here like a shy maid, so he took some decisive steps and sat next to her.

“I’m sorry, amad.” He said, not knowing exactly what he was sorry for, only sure that his mother’s current mood was because of him.

Emma nodded slowly and then looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Do you know what you have done, Stone? What  your actions will cause?”

He felt like she was overreacting a bit, surely their fghting skills weren’t bad enough to make her cry?! But when he told her that, she sighed deeply and ran her hand through her hair.

“It isn’t about the fighting, Stone. It is everything together. You know Ferin has returned, right?”

Stone nodded, and his mother continued. “Do you know what that means?” She wasn’t really expecting an answer, as she just continued. “You have crossed a line with Dirin. If you had gone any further she would have been ruined.”

Stone started to blush when he heard his amad talking about what he and DIrin did, but at the same time he felt like she was cheapening it, as if Dirin was just some tavern girl Dillin was always going on about. “I want to marry her, amad.” He protested.

“If it is thought she is not a virgin, you can’t marry her!” His mother nearly yelled. “Don’t you see it? If you make a mistake now, you will ruin it all for yourself!”

Stone was silent for a long time, as was Emma. They were both thinking of the future, though Stone was just thinking of his and the prospect of having his lovely dwarrowdam next to him while Emma was looking a little further than that.

“Adad also knows this.” Emma said after a while. “I think he and Dwalin will be in favour of you marrying Dirin. They won’t want to spoil it by letting you anywhere near her for the coming 20 years.”

“What will they do then?” Stone asked, but he already knew the answer. His adad had threatened them with it for years. Every time they did something wrong he would tell them how he was going to foster them out. But it had never happened.

Emma had seen on her son’s face that he already knew the answer. “I have stopped it many times, Stone. But now that Ferin is back, I can’t.”

“What does Ferin have to do with it?”

Emma sighed again, a sigh that sounded like she was carrying to weight of the world on her shoulders. Stone didn’t know his mother like this, so passive and gloomy. He knew her as a woman that always kept going, never gave up. A woman that loved all of them unconditionally, no matter what they did. Calm and even, that was what his mother was like. She was acting strange today. He almost started to blush when thinking about it, but perhaps his mother was having her ‘female problems’.

 “I have always had the argument that if adad sends his sons to be fostered, he would have none of his children here. And if that didn’t help, I told him I would leave with you. Now Ferin is back, neither argument is going to be of any use. All I can do now is try to prepare you for the world.”

Stone was silent again, waiting for his amad to tell him more. Ferin had been a forbidden subject for a long time, nobody spoke about him. Amad hadn’t even told Mell, whom she normally told everything. But his mother did not say anything else on the subject, only telling him to go to his apartment to see Ferin.

When he looked back as he closed the door, he saw his amad was staring into the fire again, just as she had when he had entered the room.

 

X-O-X-O

 

Emma knew she couldn’t really do anything at the moment, she could only try to save what was salvagable between the wreckage that her life seemed to be turning in to. So when her husband came to sit next to her, she just waited. Waited for her opportunity, for her chance to get what she could.

“Shall we talk?” he asked, putting his hand on her knee and looking into the fire as she did.

“As you wish.” Came the reply from Emma.

Thorin sighed. “You know they can’t stay by your side their whole lives, Emma. Don’t you think they should be able to see something of the world? Try to find who they are without other people deciding that for them?”

Emma could only cry. She could not hold back the tears that were silently streaming over her cheeks. Her boys were ging to leave, and though deep down inside she knew it was what was best for them and it was what they wanted, the idea of being without them caused so much pain she just wanted to push down every little thought of it into the deep crevices of her mind she did not visit.

She felt the hand on her knee giving her a little pat in encouragement, but she just could not stop. In the years since Threrin and Elrin had been born she had tried to be even, composed and not let her emotions run away with her. She had let them cause a turmoil under her skin, but she had been able to handle it. It was her way to deal with the fears she had about every little thing that could happen to her children, to make her life bearable and functional. But now it all started to unravel. They would be out of her sight, away from her direct influence. Her mind was frantically trying to come up with a solution to fix her problem, clawing at any way out.

 “I get to decide where they go.” Emma suddenly spoke, blurting her first thought that somewhat resembled a solution. “I will not stop them from leaving, nor will I leave you, as long as I get to decide where they will be fostered.”

So it was a trade, Thorin thought. She was picking her battles to avoid losing the whole war. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Emma. You need some sleep now.” He had really wanted to talk. Talk about their boys, but also about Ferin. But he knew it wasn’t going to work now. He knew that the idea of her sons leaving rattled Emma so much and a mere wrong word could send her over the edge. So he picked her up and carried her to their bed.

That night, he held her in his arms, her face burried in his chest, as her sleep seemed to be plagued by nightmares that he could not soothe no matter how hard he tried.


	6. Beginnings VI

The breakfast was oppulent, he had made sure of that. Poached eggs with clarified butter, smoked fish, fruit, bread so fresh it could be smelled in the adjoining apartment and all the drinks one might desire in the morning. If nothing else, it would perhaps give them a moment of peace and quiet before the heated discussion he was expecting would commence.

One by one his sons came in. Mellin still yawing, Thorin with some doubt but not willing to show it, Threrin with his mind somewhere else and Elrin telling his brother a story without noticing he wasn’t listening. And then Ferin came, stopping at the door for a moment as if he was trying to decide if he should knock or not and if he was really invited.

It was that hesitance that caught Thorin’s eye. It reminded him of the last time he had seen his firstborn, when he had given him the chance to chose whatever piece of jewelry he wanted from his father. Back then Ferin had also hesitated, afraid to take what was offered, afraid to step over some invisible border. He longed to get up and take his estranged son’s arm, to guide him to his seat and tell him he was most assuredly wanted. But if Ferin was to find his place here, he needed to take it himself, to feel he belonged, not just hear it spoken.

Last night the lads had gotten to know eachother, and it seemed it had gone well, Thorin thought when he saw them all talking together, taking small bites from the plates already waiting for them on the table. His eldest was glancing around as his brothers were talking to him, and Thorin wondered what he was looking for. Probably Emma, feeling afraid to see her after such a long time and after all the things he had heard about her. He wondered what Ferin remembered of Emma, or if his knowledge of her was just based on what he he heard about her in Dain’s court.

He let them all do as they liked and went back to the bedroom. He found his wife there, sitting at her make up table and staring at herself in the mirror. He noticed the blue circles under her eyes and the small frown between her eyebrows, so he stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “Come have breakfast with us, and then we’ll have a nap after.”

She did not look at him, merely nodded and started to apply some sort of cream under her eyes while he made a few small braids in her hair. Ten minutes later, she looked somewhat presentable and together they went into the diningroom.

As Emma sat down, Mellin looked at her with some clear worry in his eyes. He put his hand on hers, and asked: **“Are you alright, Amad? Have you not slept well?”**

Emma smiled at his and stroked his hand. **“Its nothing, Mell. Here, have some grapejuice, its your favourite.”** She said as she handed him a jug of said drink.”

Thorin nearly shook his head in amusement as he saw his wife pour her son a drink. When Mellin had told his mother that grapejuice was his favourite he had been joking with his brothers, clearly meaning wine. But ever since Emma had truly believed that Mellin liked grapejuice for breakfast and she had made sure to always have some for him at the table. Mellin had thankfully never said anything about it, always giving his mother a smile as she poured it for him, as he did now.

They ate for a while, the boys talking about this and that while Emma took small hesitant bites. But then she looked at Ferin. “Have you settled in alright, Ferin?” She asked, her tone neutral and void of any emotion.

Her stepson seemed to freeze in shock for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yes, I have, thank you.”

“You’ll be staying in the boys’ appartment?” Emma asked, taking a sip of tea.

Ferin nodded again. “I’m sharing a room with Elrin.”

“Perhaps we should add another bedroom.” Emma suggested to Thorin, whom had been following the conversation intendly, as had the others at the table.

Thorin hummed. “I’ll have someone look at it.”

All at the table had somehow stopped moving, eating, and even breathing, when Emma started to speak. Her sons did not kow what had happened in the past exactly, but they knew it was most certainly unpleasant. Emma had never spoken about it; not about Melo, not about Jessa and not about Ferin, so it was shrouded in mystery, and that only made it bigger, fueled by the conjecture the boys and their nephews and nieces made. But after Thorin had spoken, everyone turned their attention back to their plates, temporarily placated by the pleasant sounding conversation.

When Emma had finished her plate, she looked at Thorin. “Well, are we going to talk or shall we all pretend we are just here for breakfast?”

Her husband and sons looked at her with big eyes, while Ferin pushed his chair back a bit as if he was planning to run as soon as the opportunity arose.But Thorin gathered himself and scraped his throat. “Lads, your mother is right. We have things to talk about. Mainly your future.”

Mellin, Threrin and Elrin slouched in their chairs. They were expecting another lecture about responsabilities, duties and station. But Thorin sat up, knowing that what his mother had warned him about was to come. However, where she saw it as a threat, Stone actually didn’t. He had spent half the night thinking about it, and had come to the conclusion that he would rather like spending some time in another kingdom. Sure, he would miss his family and friends, but he would meet new people, learn new skills. His only worry was Dirin. If he left, would Dwalin promise her to someone else? Or would she perhaps tire of his absence and want another?

“We have decided it will be beneficial to your education if you were to spend some time somewhere else”

When she heard Thorin say that _they_ decided, she wanted to stab him in the leg with her butter knife. Multiple times. _They_ had not decided anything, Thorin had. But when her sons started to grin widely after a moment of silence and a small cacaphony broke lose, she looked up. “Nice” She heard Elrin comment, bumping his brother on the shoulder.

“Where?” Stone asked.

Thorin raised his hands. “We haven’t decided yet. But you’re welcome to make suggestions.”

Stone at Threrin looked at eachtoher and then yelled “Grey Hills” in uniscence. Elrin needed a little more time, but then said: “Lothlorien. I want to go to Lothlorien.”

Emma saw Thorin’s eyes widen at the thought that his son wanted to go to Galadriel’s stronghold. “Why?” her husband asked in a voice that was near to lamenting. But Elrin didn’t pick up on his father’s disappointment, mere stating: “It is a veritable wealth of knowledge. I’ll learn all I can.”

Emma had turned to Mellin. He had still not said anything while his brothers yelled and brawled, staring at the wall instead, and she put her hand on his. “You’ll go to adu.” She whispered. Emma had thought about it long and hard, and in the end had decided to listen to that whispered voice in her head saying it would be best for her son, even though she couldn’t exactly put her finger on the why of it.

 

X-O-X-O

He was laying next to her in the bed, the blankets wrapped tightly around them as if they were in some kind of cocoon that shut out the rest of the world. “They were happy about it.” He had whispered to her, and she had burried her face in his chest. He was right. Her sons had been happy to go out into the world, live in other places and meet other people. She did not know what was worse: the thought that her sons would be leaving her, or the thought that they would leave her gladly.

“You can go and visit them”came another whisper in the dark. You’ll be able to travel, perhaps see lands you have not seen before.”

She nodded slightly. Not because she wanted to travel or see new lands, but just because she wanted him to shut up. If her sons had not wanted to go, had protested or even refused, than maybe she could have stopped this and kept her family together. The more she thought about it, the more that gaping black hole in her heart that had started as just a dot, expanded. She feared to be swallowed by it, eaten whole, if she could not turn her mind to something else.

And so Emma turned to Thorin, sliding up a bit so their mouths were at an equal level. He looked at her with question in his eyes for a moment, and then she kissed him. Hard, passionate, her teeth clicking against his and his beard scratching the sensitive skin of her face. Although he did return her kiss, he did not exercise the same lever of fervor. So she pulled him closer to her and started tugging on the buttons of his doublet, pushing it back as soon as they were loose.

It seemed as if their roles were reversed for once. Thorin underwent the pushing and pulling of his wife, and though his body responded to her touches, his mind lagged behind. He felt his arms being pulled back when Emma tried to take off his shirt and he wrestled himself free from the constricting fabric. “What are you doing, Emma?” he whispered, but her only answer came in the form of another demanding kiss.

Their bed was normally a place where they could come together, where they could make themselves whole again, just be husband and wife. But when Emma sat on top of her and guided him inside of her, he knew this was not about becoming a union again, nor was it about coming together. No, this was about dominance. Emma felt like she was being kept out of this decision, like she had no control over it whatsoever, and so she wished to assert dominance in what was probably the only way she could think of. And it was truly marvelous, Thorin thought as she rode him, her head tilted back and the muscles in her belly taut. Her breasts swayed to the rhytm of her tilting hips, nipples hard, and he wanted to feel them, wanted to feel that luscious part of her in his hands. Yet when he tried, she took his wrists and held them above his head, leaning over him. He knew he could easily get out of her grip, could easily flip them over and take controle, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to her her soft moans above him instead of under him, wanted to feel the unexpectedness of pleasure instad of being the one that decided their movements. But most of all, he felt like she needed this, this assertion of power.

When she sped up, his thoughts were pulled back to what they were doing. As he looked at her, her body moving fluidly above his’, her lips slightly parted and her eyes shut tightly in pleasure, he felt the familiar tingle at the bottom of his spine. He hadn’t prepared for it; normally his pleasure built slowly but steadily and he knew when he would reach his high. But now that Emma took the lead, he didn’t, and it became increasingly difficult to hold back in order for her to come first. When she started clenching around him rhytmically and moaned as her release came, he thrusted up a couple of times and came himself.

After, when they lay next to eachother, still slightly painting, Emma whispered: “Thorin and Threrin will go to the Grey Hills, Elrin will go to Lothlorien and Mellin will go to Rivendel.”

Undoubtedly bolstered by her leading role, Emma presented her choice not as a question, but as a decision already made. He wanted to protest at first, especially about her choices for Mellin and Elrin. But when he thought about it, he understood. She had made her choices based on the needs of her sons, on their personalities and qualities, not on the needs of both his and her kingdoms or on the expectations of others.

“And Ferin?” he asked, knowing fully well that they still hadn’t really spoken about his presence here and wanting to know how she saw his future.

“Ferin is your responsability.” Emma said in a cold voice, devoid of any emotion.

The silence after her statement lingered for a while. Both were not asleep and both knew the other was also awake, yet they said nothing. Untill Emma sat up a bit and looked at him. “We could have another.” She whispered. “I am young enough.”

He knew what she meant; of course he knew, he had dreaded this moment for nearly 25 years. And now it had come, at the worst time possible. For king Thorin Oakenshield, ever noble, ever straightforward, had not been exactly honest with his wife. When they had started trying to conceive a second, well a third really, pregnancy, she had promissed him it would be the last. And Emma had kept that promise for a long time. But just as Thorin had known back then, her resolve had faltered. So now, now that her children would be leaving her as his basterd – Thorin scowled at his own thought- came to live with them, she asked for one of the very few things he couldn’t give. Not because he didn’t want to, or wasn’t able to, he had just proven that last point, but because she wasn’t able to. Only she didn’t know that. A handfull of healers knew, and they had left the conveying of that message to Thorin.

He swallowed thickly. “No.” He whispered, hoping she would also know that she only entertained the thought because of the current situation and would not press the matter. “You promissed.”

They exchanged no more words, and Thorin hoped against better judgement that this was the last he would hear of it.


	7. Age I

It was the morning of Stone and Mell’s coming of age party, and they were having breakfast with the family before their test would start. Everyone’s nerves were on edge, whether from exitement, trepidation or fear. So when there was a knock on the door, they all veered up a bit.

“Melo!” Emma cried out as her nephew walked into her diningroom where she was having breakfast, followed by a small delegation from the Grey Hills, her nerves hidden behind a big smile.

No one ever knew what Emma felt precisely when she saw her nephew, all only knew Melo was a near exact copy of his late father. It was something between Emma and Melo, something perhaps spoken of when they softly whispered their conversations, as Emma had once done with her brother.

Now however there were others present, Thorin, Edur, Mellin, Stone, Threrin, Elrin, Ferin, Emma’s councilmen, so both aunt and nephew kept their feelings tucked away, exchanging familiar greetings. When the pleasantries were done, Melo threw a glance at Thorin and Ferin and then turned back to Emma, looking both apologetic and defiant.

“I am very sorry, aunt, but we will not be able to attend the coming of age party.”

Emma frowned, looking at Melo confused, while Thorin got up. “And why would that be?” He barked. Somehow the mere presence of Melo could bring him on edge, bringing back the unpleasant memories of events long passed.

“We have spoken about it.” Melo started, spreading his arms in the direction of the other Grey Hills’ dignitaries “and we believe that the presence of your bastard at the main table is a grave insult to me personaly and to our queen and a blight disregard of the chain of events that have taken place here in Erebor.”

Emma did not know what he was talking about for a moment, looking back and forth between Thorin and Melo. The former looked like he was explode at any moment, the vein in his temple throbbing and his eyes squeezed into little slits, like an animal ready to attack.

“Ferin at the main table?” Emma asked her husband, putting her hands into her sides.

Reluctantly Thorin tore his gaze away from Melo. He wondered where the lad had gotten his information, as the seating chart, even though it was made over two weeks ago, had been kept a secret to avoid something like this happening.

“The main table is for close family.” Emma pressed and Thorin turned his attention to her instead of towards the question of whom to punish for this latest leak of information.

“Emma, Ferin is my son and this is my decision. It is not up for discussion.” Thorin stayed eerily calm, looking straight at Emma.

Now everyone’s attention briefly turned to Ferin, and he looked back at all those pairs of eyes, most of them hostile, some pityfull and others encouraging, as a deer caught in the arrow-range of a hunter. Other men might have taken a more confident looking stance, as if to challenge the critics, or leave the room to avoid the unpleasantness. But not Ferin; he just did not know what to do, what was expected of him, so he remained in undecisiveness, standing as still as a statue.

**“We have tried to show you our respect for you by coming here personally, aunt, but this slight against all of us can not go unanswered. So with your permission, we shall take our leave.”** Melo and the other disnitaries bowed and wanted to leave, but Emma put up one hand in a clear signal for them to hold.

**”Thank you for your concern, Melo. But you will take your appointed rooms here as I will try to get to the bottom of this. You can still always take your leave if the outcome is not as we would like it.”**

Melo gave a deeper bow, reminded that he not only spoke to his aunt, but also to his souvereign, and then swiftly left.

Emma turned to all present. “Please leave us.” Most of them happily did, hurrying to get away from the undoubtedly very uncomfortable conversation that was to take place. But some left slowly, throwing back worried glances as they left the room. Mellin could sometimes still remember the way his mother was before, before she turned into this stony woman whom didn’t seem to have very many emotions. Before, there had been a fire inside of her. A fire that fueled  her many feelings, whether good or bad. And now he felt that woman was to come back, though he didn’t know whether to hope or fear it. In his dreams he could still hear his parents fighting, yelling at eachother. His father a threathening shadow while his mother burned bright. But sometimes he also dreamt about the way she used to laugh, how she sat close to his father.

But now, now that everyone felt nervous an his mother’s nerves were on edge, he feared the fighting would start again, that his father’s barks would be cut through by his mother’s high, agitated screams. Yet he kept putting one foot in front of another untill he heard the doors to the royal apartment close.

When the room was empty save for Emma and Thorin, she sat down in front of the remains of the breakfast she had been enjoying. She knew she had been right that evening a couple of weeks ago, when she had seen Ferin nearing Erebor. She knew that with him came trouble.

“Dain had a son a couple of weeks ago.” Thorin suddenly said, pulling Emma from her dark thoughts. His wife huffed in derision, her desinterest in the subject already made clear the day the raven came. “He named him Thorin.” The kind of Erebor continued. His wife looked at him more interested now, the coldness in her eyes replaced by something more fiery.

“Thorin?” she asked. “He named his son Thorin?”

Thorin nodded, albeit reluctantly. “It seems the throne is never secure.” There was a pause, Thorin thinking of how to phrase what he wanted to say while the wheels in Emma’s head where turning and clicking together. Dain naming his son Thorin wasn’t a hommage to the man that took back Erebor for all the dwarves, it wasn’t one cousin naming his child after his other cousin and it surely wasn’t naming a child after the king of dwarves. It was a statement. A statement that Dain saw possibilities for his son to take the throne of Erebor. It was a denial of the legitimacy or suitabilty of Emma’s sons to take the throne. It was a treath veiled as a compliment. A wolf in sheepsclothing.

“And that is why Ferin has to be present.” Thorin continued. Emma looked bewildered. Why would this lead to the need of Ferin’s presence? If anything, it meant Ferin should not be present, should be avoided. Ferin was probably under Dain’s influence.

Her husband sighed. “He is not Dain’s, Emma. If you have it in you, if you ever had it in you, trust me on this. Let me present a united family. Let me show the world and everyone in it that we do not fear any problems in the line of succession, that we do not see any threaths.”

Emma got up from her chair and looked out of the window. For a second, though he could not rationally explain why, Thorin feared she would jump out of it. The burden on her shoulders weighed heavily on her, he knew that. The burden of being who she was but keeping a part of her suppressed, the burden of her position, the burden of her past and the burden of the future. And now there was animosity between himself and her nephew, the only son of her late brother, the son that looked so much like his father. And Ferin was back, unwillingly and unintentionally testing the strength of their relationship. He felt history was repeating itself, and he was sure she felt it as well. The hint of sadness that had slowly crept into her, had lain a thin sheet over her countenance, now seemed near tangible. He wondered how often she felt, for just a fraction of a second, that she saw her brother Melo when she saw her nephew.

But Emma did not crumble under the weight put upon her and turned away from the window, looking intensely at him. “You asked me if I have it in me to trust you, Thorin, and I ask you the same. For at the moment, you don’t. You kept this seating plan a secret from me, wanting me to be confronted with it in front of anyone present at the feast. Do you call that trust?”

Thorin sighed and rubbed his face. “Even the greatest block of stone can easily be split if the water in the cracks freezes, Emma. I merely wanted to keep out the water.”

Emma scoffed, annoyed with his roundabout way of talking to her. In the past years she had avoided any disagreements with him, had avoided getting into a situation that would make her angry enough to put the future of them as a family at stake, like it had before the boys were born. Somewhere inside of herself she had decided that keeping quiet and keeping her family together and peaceful was more important than being right or doing what she believed was right. But now something was reborn inside of her, a spark that might become a flame. That flame that grew in adversity, that grew when she had to fight to what she wanted to accomplish. Or not, it could also die down and leave her in peace.

“If you don’t want your stone to break due to freezing water in the cracks, you make sure there are no cracks, Thorin.” She softly said before sweeping out of the room.

X-O-X-O

More and more dignitaries from other realms gathered in the hall before the great entrance to Erebor that morning and Emma stood in the shadows on a balcony overlooking the scene, observing the visitors, seeing the differences between people from the same race. Most notably were the representatives from the Orocani, Ironfists, Blacklocks, Stonefoots and Stiffbeards. They displayed the wealth of their mountains and the variety in metals they had by putting countless beads of different colours in their hair and beards. As the light played on the small baubles, which no doubt carried all kind of meaning in their engravings, a spectrum of colour was reflected, like some sort of colourfull halo. Somehow it simultaneously made them more and less impressive, as the multi-coloured light was not the most fear inducing sight, but what it meant was. They had everything they needed and more; trade was just a way to pass time for them, not something they relayed on to make day-to-day life possible.

As Emma wondered if some sort of trade agreement with them could be profitable, Shana softly nudged her upper arm. **”Imagine they had brought Mina.”** She whispered, a very amused smile on her face.

Emma laughed silently and turned her attention back to their guests in the hall below. Mina. She had not thought of her former handmaiden in a very long time, but now that she did, the betrayal still stung. It was Mina that gave Durer the directions he needed to get out of the apartment after his attack on Melo, it was her that had given him the confidence that he could pull it off. Suddenly she felt uncomfortable; uncomfortable about what she was doing, how she was feeling and even uncomfortable in her own skin. It seemed like she could never get away from her bad memories, from what had happened. There were so many people involved, directly or indirectly, so many places that all reminded her of her brother.

They watched for a little while longer, but Emma was no longer interested in what she saw, her mind wandering to places she didn’t want it to go. She went back to her chambers; Elrond was to arrive soon and she needed him to help her pass the time and keep her mind off of all the things that might happen to her sons while they had their coming of age test.

X-O-X-O

As Emma was standing on a balcony, Elrond walked into the royal apartment. It had been some years since he was last here, pressing matters keeping him in Rivendel as they kept Emma in Erebor. Not much had changed, perhaps a decoration here and there, but the feeling he got when he entered here was the same: expectancy mixed with trepidation. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, he just never knew what to expect when he was here. In Rivendel, the pace of life was slow and he knew what would happen everyday. Here, he did not. Somehow something unexpected always came up.

As he sat comfortably of the sofa in the antechamber, the front door opened and Elrond felt he saw a ghost. Rationally he knew it could not be, but his eyes told him something different. “Melo?” He asked near breathlessly, and the visitor turned to him.

“That would be me, at your service.” He said with a bow.  “You’re Emma’s father, aren’t you?”

It was the voice, the voice was different, lower but also more lighthearted. It was Melo, Melo junior. Elrond’s heartbeat slowed and his thoughts went to his daughter. How did she feel about her nephew that looked like an almost exact copy of his deceised father? With a tiny shrug of his shoulder he shred his thoughts and turned his attention to Melo. He had seen him a few times when the boy was little, but he didn’t know much about him as an adult.

“Is aunt Emma here?” Melo asked, a kind smile on his face.

“I’m waiting for her as well, Shana said she’ll be right out.”

Melo nodded and turned around. “I’ll come back later, perhaps now is not the best time to discuss my business with her.” He explained and gave the elf lord another small bow before leaving.

Elrond wanted to say something in return, but the boy already softly closed the doors behind him and he was left in silence.

X-O-X-O

“You are too young to be this sad, Selde.”

“I am too young to have my children leave me.”

Elrond sat down next to her on the edge of the bed, putting his arm around her shoulder. It was all she needed for her barriers to disappear and she burst into tears, hiding her face in her father’s wealthily decorated robes.

“I did receive Thorn’s request; so very formal and official. There must have been at least a dozen gold stamps and sygils attached to it. But that makes it easier to refuse, Emma, Should you wish, I’ll decline his request from one ruler to another. Much easier than from father-in-law to son-in-law.”

Emma let out a half-sob half laugh and wiped her eyes dry. “That sounds like Thorin. But don’t refuse, if you do Mellin will be sent elsewhere and I somehow feel he should go to you.”

Elrond gave her a small nod and tiltel his head in silent agreement. “And this afternoon?”

Another smile appeared on Emma’s lips, though a more sly one, one that betrayed a hidden smugness. “My men have cleared the area and have sent some wounded enemies their way. The danger is controlled.”

Again Elrond tilted his head, this time not in silent agreement but in silent question.

“I threatened Edur to hang him as an oathbreaker if he didn’t.” Came the explanation.

Unexpected things had already happened to him in the short time he was here, Elrond thought with a smile, but some things never changed. At heart, Emma was a fighter. Not a knight with oaths and honour, but a streetfighter that crossed lines and shattered borders to win. He liked to see it again, though he wondered what had brought out this side of her again.


	8. Age II

Before her morning ended and Stone and Mell’s afternoon began, Emma had one more thing to do. Perhaps it was folly, the overreaction of a mother or a waste of gold, or perhaps she would later thank Mahal on her knees for this decision. But she could not look into the future, nor did she wish to see it. The poem she had once heard on her four month ball had been enough; she did not want to taste that bitterness again. So she took the safe route and mentally laughed at those that said that gold could not buy peace of mind. It was exactly that, that gold was for. Or in this case: mythril, to be more precise.

Followed by several smiths, Emma entered her sons’ apartment and put her presents for her oldest sons there, looking at the shiny chainmail made of the most precious metal Middle Earth had to offer one more time before leaving. The bright silvery sheen of the material was even more evident in the slightly dark room, the flames of the candles and the hearth mirrored in the small, painstakingly forged rings. For Emma had seen what Thorin’s ancestors had made to protect those most important to the kingdom and knew that one of those mythril chainmails was not enough to protect what was most important to her. So she had two of them made.

Emma softly closed the door behind her as she left and went to the hall at the entrance of Erebor, waiting at Thorin’s side for her sons to come. Her husband welcomed her with a smile, and she returned it, with difficulty. But she knew it was expected. After all, it was supposed to be a joyous day. So she smiled as she saw Stone and Mell leave with the platoon they were supposed to lead, including their father. She smiled when she felt Dwalin’s heavy hand on her shoulder in a silent comfort and she smiled as she walked back to her apartment, the halls and passageways of Erebor more silent and desolate than ever.

But arrived in her bedchamber, Emma’s smile faltered, her muscles no longer willing to hold up the charade. She crawled under the fresh blankets on her bed and ade a feeble attempt to close her eyes so she could sleep. But the facts of life were not that kind, and she tossed and turned, worries and fears torturing her.

 

X-O-X-O

 

Dinner was yet another smiling affair. Thorin smiled, her sons smiled, Ferin smiled, Elrond smiled, Galadriel smiled, Melo smiled, Edur smiled; everone smiled. And Emma smiled. All so the line of Durin looked secure, looked like a unity.

She smiled when official proclamations were made, when her sons were officially called heirs to Erebor. She smiled when her efforts as a mother were hailed by her husband. But her food turned to ash in her mouth and her heart felt like it was bleeding out. More than once she felt Thorin’s hand taking hers, and more than once she was unable to return his gesture. Not because she did not want to, not because she did not want to reciprocate his support, but because she needed every ounce of determination, of willpower and energy to keep herself steady.

She felt like she was in a bubble, disconnected from the world around her somehow. She looked at Ferin, sitting at Elrin’s right, and then to Melo, sitting at one of the more prominent tables, and wondered what the future was going to bring. How far would Thorin go in accomodating his son? And how far would she go in making sure that her position and her past would get the respect they deserved?

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sharp noise of Stone pushing back his chair. When she looked down at the plate in front of her she found dessert had been placed in front of her, accopanied by the sweet, wite wine filled with litte bubbled. The pudding was specked with small black dots, showing real vanilla had been used, and accompanied by several pieces of red fruit. What was the most remarkable however, was the leaf gold placed up and around the pudding and fruit. As she looked around, she saw that everyone of the more than 1000 guests had been served that same dessert. She looked at Thorin, wondering it had come to be that he had had a dessert served that was more luxurious than even the one at their wedding. Yet her husband was also looking around, seeing and hearing the guests ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ at the treat.

Stone scraped his throat, his manners already powerfull enough to deand everyone’s attention just as his father.

“We are here today to celebrate the fact that all of you have finally gained enough insight to see that Mellin and I are the best warriors Erebor has ever known” he started with a cocky smile. The crowd laughed and guwaffed, but fell silent again as Stone continued. “My father gives good speeches, stern, serious and to the point. I have been informed that one day, may that day take a long time to get here, I shall have to do the same. But not today. Today I give a speech not in honour of myself nor my brother. Not in honour of Erebor or my father, our trainers or the many servants that aid us everyday. Today I make a speech and dedicate this dessert to the one that is always there. Our amad.”

Thorin and Emma’s sons all got up, held up their glasses and bowed to their mother. “To the queen.” “To Emma” “ To her highness” came the cheers from their guests, and Thorin grabbed her hand, smiling at her. Yet Emma did nothing; she just sat still, unable to move a muscle. Untill Mell’s hand on her shoulder shocked her into action and she took a sip of her bubbly wine. It was her they had thanked. It was her that this dessert was for. They hadn’t forgotten her.

 

X-O-X-O

 

The formal party that followed the coming of age test had ended with the oppulent dinner, and officially everyone went home. But they the young people never did, never had done. And so, after decades and decades of secrecy, the young people having a party after the official coming of age party had become tradition. Enjoyed by many, loathed by some, but a tradition recognised by all.

Stone and Mell had been planning their party for months. For the official part of their coming of age they had to conform to the wishes of their adad and his advisors, adhere to tradition and keep station and place in mind. But for their own party, it was only themselves they had to keep in mind. And being heirs to Thorin and Emma, not even money was an objection. Of course their adad had given them limits, rather tights ones, as his fortune came largely from the revenues of Erebor and were seen as the kingdom’s money by some. But their mother had been a lot easier. With a small, somewhat conspiratory smile she had taken them to her own treasure halls. And what they saw there went beyond their wildest imagination. Bar upon bar of mythril was stacked against the walls, the dim lighting from the candles overhead bouncing off the shiny material to the gold and jewels in the middle. With what laid there, their mother could buy up half of Arda and still live most comfortably.

Yet Emma did not really see to care. Mindlessly she took some bars of mythril, enough to buy a city and everything in it, and handed it to her sons. “Nothing too obvious.” She warned them with a nod, and then she walked out of the hall, waiting for them in the doorpost to lock the heavy, yet unassuming, wooden door again. For quite a while they wondered if anyone knew what was hidden in that forgotten hall, if their father even knew, yet they didn’t speak of it to others, not even their brothers. It felt like it was meant to remain a secret.

That did not stop them from turning part of what had been given to them into a night to remember.  It was decided they were going to have a masked ball. They had taken some smaller halls, adjoined by a round antechamber-like hall in the middle, and transformed it into a southern party venue. The floors were covered with silk carpets and drape upon drape of jewel toned velvet hung from the walls and ceilings, the colours enhanced by gold plated vases full of exotic flowers. Throughout all of the rooms, small, elegant black marble tables were placed to put the small bites of food on their guests would be served. The drinks would come in large, gold plated jugs, filled with ale, mead and wine that was to be drunk from gold plated cups. It was oppulence to the extreme, to be shared with the many friends and acquintances of the heirs.

Those lucky to be considered as such by the princes received their hand caligraphed invitations personally by the princes’valets, to avoid the falling into the wrong hands and uninvited guests turning up at the party. Stone and Mell just wanted one evening in which their behaviour would not be scutinised and their actions would not be the subject of gossip throughout the whole kingdom. But the scibes had not been carefull enough, and one invitation went missing.

 

X-O-X-O

 

Emma walked through the halls between the official banquet and  the start of the party. Carefully she stepped on the costly rugs, her hands tentatively running over the surface of the tables. When she looked at the sensuous paintings that hung from the wall, she could not help but stare, nor could she stop thinking that this was perhaps what a brothel looked like.

A small grin came from the door, and when she slowly turned around she saw Thorin standing there, casually leaning against the doorpost. “Do you see now why we were not invited, azyungal.” He asked with a mocking undertone to his voice. “Do you imagine your sons will want to share surroundings like these with their mother?”

Emma needed a moment to gather her thoughts. She had imagined very large quantities of alcohol, perhaps a girl here and there, tables laden with food. But this? This was certainly not what she had expected the party to look like.

“Is this normal?” She asked her husband, and with a little chuckle Thorin came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“They perhaps had a little larger budget to set the scene, but otherwise yes, this is normal.” He chuckled.

“But—“ Emma started, unable to find the words she needed to end her sentence while trying to get out of Thorin’s hold.

“Yes, there are paintings of naked women on the wall, I had noticed. They’re thirty, Emma, what had you expected?” Thorin said, more serious now, as he kept holding Emma.

Emma turned around, and she saw the mirth shining in her husband’s eyes. She could not believe all that was going on. “When Dwalin barged into our apartment, barking about Dirin, you did not say ‘ _they are thirty, what had you expected’_ , Thorin.” She tried to mimick his voice to ridicule him, but it came out in such a wrong way that he couldn’t help but laugh.

“True. Dirin is another sort of girl than some of those that will be attending tonight, or those that are depicted on the paintings.” He held out his hand to her. “Come, we’ll go home and leave them to it.”

 

X-O-X-O

 

When they arrived at their apartment, Thorin, Mellin, Threrin, Elrin and Ferin were already waiting for them, and Emma saw where the biggest part of the mythril she had given her eldest sons had gone to. All five brothers wore masks covering the upper half of their face made of the precious metal, with matching beads in their hair. After seeing what she had seen, she wanted to yell at them and ask them if their heads were on quite right. But even she had to admit they looked dashing, regal, powerfull and all the other things a Durin had to embody. So she just gave them a kiss on their cheeks and laughed despite of herself as all four of her sons grabbed her and wrapped their arms around her. “Thank you, amad.” Her eldest two said while Ferin stood on the side, looking uncomfortable. And then they all went out of the door, leaving their mother standing in the antechamber, looking even smaller than she was.

Emma wanted to scream and cry and sit under her blankets untill everything was back to normal and her little boys would crawl into her bed and ask her to read stories to them. But it was 25 years too late for that, so she took a deep breath and went to her bedroom, followed by Thorin. Her husband had expected her to just sit on the bed and lament all night, but she had other plans.

She put on a lace, black dress with long sleeves and a little train, still watched with some astonishment by Thorin. When that was done, she put her hair in a thick braid and pinned it in a bun. After that, she took a black, vervetty mask from one of the drawers and put in on. A shawl made from a thin, gauzy material attached to the mask and covering her nose and mouth finished her attire.

Thorin had not understood what she was doing untill she had taken the mask and put it on. “Don’t, Emma. Give them a chance to have their own lives without their mother walking after them like hen after her chicks. Let them be.”

Emma turned to him, only her dark eyes visible. It reminded him of when she had just arrived in Erebor; she even seemed as scared as she had back then. “I will not meddle, Thorin. I just want to see. I want to see how and who they are when we are not there.”

Thorin sighed, seeing how she felt, and acquiested. “Do you want me to come?” he asked, knowing she would decline.

As expected she shook her head and then left, the stolen invitation in hand.


	9. Age III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second chapter I've added tonight, so read chapter 8 firt if you haven't done that already!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy :)

The halls where the party was being held were already filled with countless people. There had to be at least 250 guests, rich, poor, man, woman, that, to Emma’s knowing,  only had one thing in common: they were friends of Thorin and Mellin. Everyone was dressed in their best clothing, from gold-threaded doublets to oppulent dresses that rivaled Emma’s.

The crowdedness of the rooms made it easy for Emma to go unnoticed after her invitation had been verified by three guards at the door and she had been allowed entrance. So she wandered around, looking at people, looking at what they did and said while trying to remain unseen herself. Her mask and veil helped her with that and for a moment she was transported back to her youth, when she wanted to be seen when she was invisible and invisible when she was seen.

A sudden hand on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts, and she tensed up, only relaxing when she heard a familiar voice whisper ‘Muintelig’.

She turned and saw Elrohir standing behind her, a small smile gracing his lips. “Now sister” he started, a voice thick with held in laughter. “I know I have been invited, as has our brother, but you? Are you going to tell me your sons have invited their mother to this party?”

Emma pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest. “Are you going to tell on me?”

Her brother laighed wholeheartedly. “Of course not, I will even show you around, if you dare.” He held out his hand and Emma gladly took it. To her opinion people were dancing a little too close to eachtother on the mesmerizing tunes brought forward by musicians playing on drums, flutes, lutes and violins, and she did not want to get caught by one of them and forced to join the dancing.

They walked around the halls, having some food here and there, laughing when Emma tried to drink a cup of mead with her veil being in the way. In the largest hall Emma saw Stone, Threrin and Elrin, their faces already a bit red from the wine, brawling with their Kili and Fili and their friends while girls flocked around them.

“They look like they’re having fun.” Elrohir remarked as they stood in a corner, hidden from the rest of the guest by the shadows.

Emma nodded. “Thorin was right. They look like thirty year olds.” She sighed. “Melo was like this when he was their age.”

Elrohir swallowed. He hadn’t heard the name Melo in referance to her brother in a very long time. What was it that she suddenly mentioned him now? Emma did not elaborate further, she merely looked at her sons having fun and drank more mead in big gulps. Her arm twitched when she saw Elrin kissing a girl, the daughter of a lower noble, she believed, but she reigned herself in and did not move. She knew what people would think and say if it became known that the queen of Erebor had snuck into her sons’ party.

After a while they left, strolling through the halls while Emma told him entertaining stories about the people they saw. The heir of Dale Bast, Melo junior, Lind, Bali, Fain, Nehili, Dili, Thirzi, Siri, her ward Sima, Ferin, Dillin, the son of the head chef for the royal family, the daughter of a lower level butcher, the son of a miner, and so on and so on. They were all there, and even though they wore masks, Emma recognized almost every one of them, knowing their names, their families and their backgrounds. Elrohir wondered how she did it, not just remember the things and people a ruler should, but also sound like she was interested, sometimes even invested in them.

He asked how and why she did it, and his little sister thought for a while before coming up with an answer. “Many of the people here have been spending time with my sons since they were little. They got to know eachother at school, through other people or just because of a chance meeting. But for every name my sons told me about, for every child that came to play with them, I visited his or her parents. No matter whom, no matter where, I visited. Emma turned away from the crowd to lift her veil and take a gulp of mead. She was slowly getting quite enebriated, but Elrohir was not about to stop her, it was rather entertaining to see her get so chatty. “They were mostly quite funny visits. Once, I took two guards and went to the lowest level. It is rather dark there, as the light vents can’t carry so much light down, and there is only so much light a candle can provide, especially at night. So when I knocked the door, the miner’s wife didn’t recognize me at first. But she invited me in anyway, served the best cup of tea I ever had.”She pointed at a lad in a simple doublet with dark brown hair whom was currently drinking ale from a jug with his right hand while he tightly held on to a laughing girl with his left. “There, Rainir, it was his mother. We chatted for quite a while about the joys and woes of having thirteen year old sons. It wasn’t untill I told her that although I had no objections against the friendship her son or his family would not gain anything from being friends with my sons, that she understood whom I was. The poor thing dropped her teacup from fright.” Emma laughed a bit, not mockingly but rather fondly. “As our sons continued to be friends, Thorin and I invited Rainur and Therna, those are the names of his parents, to come dine with us once. It took them three courses to get over their nerves, and she kept elbowing her husband inconspicuously everytime she thought he was going against etiquette or protocol. But after that, it was quite pleasant. I sometimes still see her, though I always have to go to her because she is still afraid to come to the royal wing or make an appointment with Shana.”

“And their son?” Elrohir asked curiously. He was seeing a side of Emma he had not seen in a long time. A side that could have fun, love, laugh and be unbothered by the thoughts of others. He wondered if it was the relief that her sons came out of their coming of age test unscathed, the alcohol or the veil she could hide behind again.

“Rainier turned out to be a gifted speaker. I paid his tuition and he will probably be a diplomat or advisor to Stone or Mell. His parents stil get embarrassed when I talk about his talents; they belief one should not rise beyond their birthstation. Or perhaps they are afraid I will think they take advantage of us.”

“And her?” Elrohir nodded at a girl with lips like budding flowers and bouncy blond curls.

Emma sighed. “That’s Dirin, Dwalin’s daughter.”

“And?” Elrohir pressed.

Emma did not need anymore encouragement, as words started to flow form her mouth like a waterfall. “Stone was recently caught with his hands up her skirts. You can imagine how angry Dwalin was, even Thorin flinched for a second.” She giggled at this, a girly giggle that Elrohir had heard coming from her only once, when they were impossibly drunk in Rivendel. “It is all rather complicated. You see—“ At this she bend her head to Elrohir and started whispering consiratory. “Dwalin’s wife, Dina, found her One after she and Dwalin had married and had Dillin. His name is Tomal and he is one of Thorin’s many scribes. I think he even helped make the invitations to this party. Anyway, Dina met Tomal and fell in love instantly. And Dwalin, you know, big angry Dwalin, he just gave her permission to lay with him on the condition she would not bear him children. “

“Then whose is Dirin?” Elrohir asked, and Emma giggled again. “That is what many wonder. But it isn’t as scandalous as you would think, though still not common knowledge. Dwalin gave his wife her relative freedom on the condition that she would give him a second child. So five years after Dillin was born, Dina had to go back to Dwalin for a couple of months.”

“How do you know all this?” Elrohir didn’t know his sister to be a gossiper, but this sounded a lot like the conversation topic of a bunch of washing maids.

Emma laughed again. “I know Dina reasonably well and Thorin is good friends with Dwalin. But this isn’t even the best part of the story. You see, the reason Dwalin was so lenient with his wife was that he also had a One he wasn’t married to, so he understood.”

“Who?” Elrohir asked.

“Dis!” Emma exclaimed after having taken another mead from the tray a servant was carrying around and downing nearly all of it in one go. “He had been in love with Dis for his whole life, but she was married off to some nobleman from the Iron Hills even though she had already accepted Dwalin’s first courting gift.”

“And did they get back together?” Her brother was becoming really invested in her stories.

“I haven’t seen Dis in a foul mood ever since the evening Thorin gave her his permission to be with Dwalin. Who would have thought that Thorin’s sour old sister just needed a good fuck!” Emma laughed, and although Elrohir was shocked at her language at first, he could see the humour in it. Though he did have to inform Shana to get some herbs to ease Emma’s headache in the morning.

Elrohir nodded at another boy, this one with fiery red hair, currently standing on top of the shoulders of another and waving a flag with the Durin sygil on it around.

“That is Makos, son of Makin. Makin is one of Thorin’s chief advisors and the well known proverbial snake at court. He can get everything done, but only if it also benefits him in some way. Thorin likes him as Makin thinks doing anything for Thorin will benefit him.”

“And what do you think of him?”

“I entertain myself with the thought that Makos’ love for other men instead of women is the worst kept secret in Erebor.” She smiled. “The lad’s kind though, nothing like his father. So lets not hold the faults of the parent against the child.”

“Does that also goes for Ferin?” Elrohir needled, thinking she was probably drunk enough to elaborate on that. But he had miscalculated as Emma shook her head and sighed. “Not tonight, Elrohir. Tonight we will not go there. Let me tell you of the parents of that sweet girl currently hanging around Elrin’s neck instead.”

Another mead was taken and consumed by his sister, while he was still on his third wine, and then she told him about the baker that made the best hearty pies. “Here, taste one.” She said as she plucked a miniature pie from one of the tables and fed it to him.

“They are indeed nice.” He said as he chewed on the lightly spiced meat and buttery pastry.

“Her mother ran away from her husband in the Iron Hills to live here unmarried with her love. They have been hiding here for over forty years and have three children. Jalhir, Jalhun and her, Jalsin. When I went to visit them, the baker got so nervous that he just kept on drinking, it was hilarious. After ten cups he told me their secret.”

Elrohir raised his eyebrows. “And you have done nothing to right that wrong?”

She scoffed. “Why would I? She must have had a good reason to leave her husband. No, instead I gave her a divorce and a new marriage certificate.”Emma smiled at the memory. “And now I have free pies whenever I want for the rest of my life.”

“You would probably have had them anyway, seeing you are queen.” Elrohir deadpanned.

“Yes, but now they are given in kindness and gratitude instead of being spat on  by a disgruntled baker that had to wake up in the middle of the night and give away his wares for free.” Elrohir looked at her questionningly. “He always keeps a couple in case I feel like having one. They make me feel better when I’m sad.”

He laughed at the thought that his sister turned out not to be some unreachable, untouchable statue but made of flesh and blood. In all honesty, he had doubted that somewhat over the past years. She had retreated from the people around her more and more, void of emotions, but tonight had proven to him that she wasn’t as isolated as he had worried.

Emma pointed at another boy, this time clearly from a rich family, as his mask was made of gold and his attire was woven through with goldthread. “That is Enis, son of Edis. His father is the biggest bloated toad to walk in Thorin’s court. He came here well and good after the kingdom was retaken and has gotten hold of some goldmines in less than savoury ways. Since then he has tried to come into Thorin’s good graces. When he and his wife found out I visit the parents of my sons personally, they didn’t wait for me to come, but came to me instead. Unsufferable. I have blocked any of their attempts to gain more influence ever since.”

“And their son?”

“He doesn’t visit our apartment, at least not since his parents got the message that their ways of social climbing were not appreciated by me.” She drank the last bit of mead from her cup and then took his hand. “Come on, lets go look in another hall. I have the feeling I will not like what will happen between Elrin and Jalsin within moments.”

As Emma turned away, Elrohir indeed saw his nephew kissing the baker’s girl. On one hand he wanted to congratiolate the lad, but on the other hand he wanted to warn him, instill in him that love was precious and not to be played with. But he did neither, following Emma instead. Perhaps another day.

As they walked around, he saw Emma looking for something. “Do you know if there is a toilet here somewhere?” She asked.

He waved at one of the servants, the man coming over to them and lookin up at Elrohir questioningly. “Is there a restroom?”

The servant led them there and Emma went in. When she had closed the door behind her, she immediately stopped however, her muscles going stiff and her eyes widening. The scene in front of her made her buckle, her knees almost unable to hold the weight of her body as she held on to the sink. What she saw in front of her was the doom to her family and their relative peace and happiness she had feared. She could not breathe for a moment, but then she regained herself and quickly left, leaving the occupants of the room staring at her open mouthed.

“I believe I’ve had enough to drink.” She said to Elrohir with a shaky laugh. I think I should retire.

Her brother looked at her uncertain, but nodded and led her through the crowds of partying people. Once arrived at her apartment, he opened the door. Emma walked straight into the bedroom and Thorin looked at him questioningly.

“Too much to drink.” He shrugged and Thorin nodded understandingly. “Best make sure she gets safe to bed then.” The king of Erebor said, leaving Elrohir alone in the antechamber. The elf knew something had happened in that toilet, he just couldn’t figure out what. There hadn’t been enough time for Emma to be attacked and she hadn’t looked as if violence was used against her. So he believed Emma had seen something that had caused such a sudden change in behaviour in her. But what? He wracked his brain, but he couldn’t figure it out. When the sun started to rise, Elrohir left the apartment in search of his own bed, though sleep did not really come to him.


	10. Age IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter? So soon after the previous?  
> Yes, yes it is. Short, but rather interesting, to my ever humble opinion ;)

It was the morning after the party and Emma had not expected to see her sons for quite some time given the amount of alcohol they had ingested the previous night. Yet when she was quietly enjoying a cup of sweet tea in the dining room, she heard someone rummaging around the apartment.

When she walked out to see who it was, she found Mellin looking around and, from the looks of it, gathering his belongings. **“What are you doing, inudoy?”** She asked in a soft tone, not wanting to startle him.

He looked up. **“I will leave for Rivendel today so I’m just getting everything I need.”**

There was certain haste, an agitation, in his words. She put her hand on his shoulder and quieted his movements. **“Calm down, Mell, and come with me, I have something to show you.”**

Mellin nodded mutely, his expression belying his confusion, and Emma got up and pressed a kiss on his hair. **“You’re leaving tomorrow. There is no reason to leave today. Now come with me.”**

X-O-X-O

He felt ill at ease in the room that was normally off limits to everyone, but at the same time he wanted to stay to see why his mother had asked him here. Yet it seemed she was not ready to elaborate on that yet, as she sat with her hand folded in her lap, looking up to a life size painting of his uncle Melo, flanked by a giant tiger-like animal whose shoulders were at eye level of his long deceised uncle.

When he started to look around, trying not show his discomfort, his mother broke her reverie and looked at him.

**”Look at the painting, Mellin. Who is stronger, the mountain tiger or your uncle?”**

He blinked a couple of times, not completely understanding the question. No matter how much his mother worshipped her brother, she could not really believe he was stronger than such a magnificent beast, could she?

Just to show his respect, he looked briefly at the painting before looking back at her. **”The tiger, of course.”** he answered, trying not to show his astonishment over her question.

His mother just gave him a small smile. **”Look again.”**

He did, and gave her the same answer. And she asked him again, and so they went on for three more times, untill his amad got up with a disappointed sigh. **”I’ll ask it in a different way, Mellin. Why is uncle Melo stronger than that mountain tiger?”**

And then she walked out of the room, leaving him to stare at the painting. Why would his amad think that a mere dwarf was stronger than one of those massive beasts? He mulled over that question for hours, the sun arching over the sky unseen by him, untill his adad came in.

“What are you doing here?” Thorin asked sharply, and Mellin held up his hands. “Amad asked me here this morning. She asked me why uncle Melo is- was stronger than the tiger.” He said with doubt in his voice, hoping his adad could get him out of the loop his brain seemed to be in.

Thorin also looked at the painting for a moment, the thought that his wife was going mad shooting through his head, untill he looked a little better. “The tiger is wearing a saddle.” He said with a small smile, and then left the room, his big paces echooing through the apartment.

Mellin laughed softly and simultaneously cursed his own shortsightedness. Amad had wanted to teach him that strength was not always found in muscle and physique, but could also be in control and in mind. But why? What did that have to do with what had happened? He stared and thought for at least another two hours, and then it started to dawn at him and he searched for his mother untill he found her in her dressing room with Shana, packing her bags.

**”Uncle Melo forced something bigger and stronger than him to bend to his ways, to his will.”**

Emma nodded, a proud smile on her face. **”Never forget that, Mell.”**


	11. Demons I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I have not updated for a long time, and I'm really sorry! I would liek to say that I will update weekly from now on, but I can not promise that. The nearing end of this story makes it hard to write for me, but I can promise I will finish it. I hope you will all stick with the story untill then, as I really appreciate all your comments, good or bad :)

They had watched them leave from the ramparts. Thorin and Threrin going towards the Grey Hills while Mellin and Elrin would travel together part of the way. There had been no Erebor banners, no familiar soldiers accompanying his sons. Instead, they were accompanied by the representatives of the realms they would be spending the coming five years at. Thorin and Elrin with Emma’uncle Rykar, Elrin with Galadriel and Mellin with Elrond and his sons.

When the last banner had gone from sight, Thorin walked back to his apartment. He had expected Emma to spend the rest of the day staring at the horizon, but when the boys had looked back one last time, she had disappeared, accompanied by Melo. Her nephew had decided to stay a little bit longer, saying there were state matters to discuss.

Thorin’s wife was easily found though, as she and Melo were in the sitting room, speaking in the rolling r’s and throaty g’s he had gotten used to hearing when Emma’s spoke with her sons. Those words had usually been spoken in calmth though, whereas the conversation that was going on now seemed to be more heated. For a moment he wondered if he should go and sit with them, find out what was wrong, but he decided against it; it was probably between them. So he sat down in the antechamber and halfheartedly read some reports.

It was the late afternoon when one of the servants brought in the first pitcher of mead. The conversation between Emma and her nephew died down a bit, Thorin only hearing some small comments being made every once in a while, and not much later Melo left with a stiff, shallow bow.

“Please bring one more.” He heard Emma say to the servant, her voice a bit thick, and he decided to join her.

Emma barely acknowledged his sitting down next to her. Her thoughts were whirling thorugh her head and for some reason she could not get a grip on them, could not calm herself down. Melo had not made things easier. The presence of Ferin was still an insult to him, and he kept making small, veiled remarks in their conversation about important state matters that stayed in her head like ghosts haunting halls with their shadowy presence.

Had Thorin sent her sons away so Ferin could take Stone’s rightful place? Were her sons being replaced by Thorin’s bastard? Butt he thought that nagged at her the most, was the question if Jessa would still win in the end. Would Thorin keep thinking of the dead woman and woud he put her son on the throne?

The first pitcher of mead did not quiet her thoughts, it only made them more instrusive. So she ordered another, and another. When she noticed the servant throwing a glance at Thorin for his approval as she ordered a fifth pitcher to be brought, she was ready to start throwing things around. She felt like she was not being respected, like even the servants did not acknowledge her or her position. Like her life was caving in, stone by stone, untill there would be nothing left but dust and rubble.

But Thorin nodded his approval and more mead was brought in. They did not speak, did not sit closer to eachother. Emma was focussed on steering her thoughts, and Thorin watched her, slowly stirring his own reflections on the situation.

When the fire had nearly died down and the pale light of the crescent moon shone through the windows, Emma got up from the sofa. As she struggled to maintain her balance, Thorin escorted her to bed where she just lay down without taking off her clothes.

 

X-O-X-O

 

“Adad!” Thorin woke slightly by someone shaking his shoulder and half opened one eye. “Adad!” Ferin hissed again, the sense of urgency becoming stronger.

With a groan the king of Erebor rolled around and opened both eyes, looking slightly annoyed at his oldest son. >”What?”< he barked, and Ferin drew back a little.

“Her highness – I mean, the queen—I mean, your wife – “ In that moment, the darkest moment of the night, it became clear that Ferin was a long way from feeling like he was home here in Erebor, from feeling confortable in the royal apartment. “Emma” Thorin sighed. “Just call her Emma.”

Ferin nodded and swallowed almost imperceptably. “Emma is in our apartment and – well – I think she is not doing so great…”

Thorin got up and put on a dressing gown, knotting the belt as he walked out. “Just wait here for a moment.” He mumbled at Ferin as he wanted to follow him. He was sure Emma would not want Jessa’s son to be spectator to the scene.

Nearing the door of his sons’ apartment, he thought there was a mad dog in there at first. But when he listened more closely, he could distinguish anguished sobs between the breaking of tableware and the cracking of wood.  He wondered if he should just let her be, let her work out her frustrations and replace the furniture in the morning.  But her sobs made his spine shiver and the hairs in the nape of his neck stand up, so he carefully opened the door.

The destruction was not as big as he had expected; a vase here ad there, some platters, but not a completely destroyed room. Yet he continued to tread carefully, as he knew that his wife blamed him, and perhaps Ferin, for the departure of her sons. She could not see that her boys needed, and wanted, to see more of the world, that they had to learn to be responsible without their mother always holding a protective hand over their heads.  As Thorin walked through the dimly litted apartment, Balin’s words from so long ago unbiddingly came to mind: _“She does have the greed of a dwarf, just not for gold. I have seen it clearly Thorin, she has it for your children.”_

Was that what Emma was going through? Did she feel like he had done when the gold had pushed him into the darkest crevices of his mind and drove him to madness there? Or was it worse, was the sense of pain and loss greater because this wasn’t just about gold, but about the children that had grown within her?

When he found his wife, she was sitting on Elrin’s bed, wrapped in what he assumed were the blankets of her sons, crying like a child while her hands clenched the fabric with such force that her knuckles were even whiter than the blankets. In that moment Thorin knew that Emma’s pain was greater than anything he had ever felt, too great for him to take away.

He sat down next to her on the edge of the bed, his arms around the bundle in which his wife sat. “Speak, Emma” he said “Or say nothing, either way. But share your burden with me.”

Her sobs died down, and the hand that had been grabbing the blankets now gripped his hand. He would have liked to say he did not blanch, did not try to release himself from her grip, but that would have been a lie. He had not realised that Emma was still growing, still getting stronger, so he had not known her true strength. But now he did. He felt like the bones in his hands were about to break and his muscles and tendons would be ripped apart. And no matter how hard he tried to pull back, he could not get his hand from her grip.

“Do you get it now?” She wailed, her beautiful features distorted.

Thorin sighed and rested his forehead to her temple. “Then go” he whispered. “Go and see and let your heart be at peace.”


	12. Demons II

No one would have _said_ Emma sneaked out of Erebor like a thief in the night, but many did think it. On a bleak morning, just after dawn, there was no ceremony, no honour guard and no goodbyes. When the queen of Erebor left, there was only a defeated looking king standing at the gates of he greatest dwarven kingdom in Middle Earth. There were only some whispered words and a hand to help her on her horse.

Emma did not need more. Clothes and some provisions for her journey to Ered Mithrin were packed on her horse, and she had refused guards to accompany her on the frst part of her journey. She had done it alone once, and she could do it again.

 

X-O-X-O

Whe she neared her homeland, she stood still for a while, staring at the all too familiar mountains. Last time she had been here, her brother was still alive. She could almost see him, running through the hills, yelling like the warrior he would become. When her memories threatened to overwhelm her, she rode on and into her kingdom.

The soldiers on guard at the entrance wanted to stop her at first, suspicious of travelers that came at dusk, barked at her to get off her horse, show what was in her many saddle bags. But when she folded back her hood and showed her face, they stepped back and bowed deeply. It felt good, in some way, to be acknowldged for who she was, instead for whom her husband and sons were.

**“Shall I accompany you to lord Rykar, your grace?” ** One of the guards offered, accompanied by a held out hand.

With a small nod she took his hand, feeling a little weak on her feet after riding for so long, but no one noticed, as the queen of the Grey Hills looked as gracefull as many remembered. She followed the guard, trusting that servants would take care of her luggage. But halfway to the throne room, she changed her mind.

** “Take lord Rykar to my chambers, tell no one I am here.” **

For years Emma had corresponded with her uncle by letters. One after another, carried by faithful crows, about all matters of state. Her uncle had ruled for her, kept the throne warm untill her heir would be ready to sit on it. Sometimes she had thought on how it would be if she went back, if she would leave Erebor behind and take her rightful place. A place she was never meant to have, a place she was never meant to take.

As she waited, she looked around the room. These used to be Melo’s fathers chambers, and then Melo’s. Years ago she had sat on his sofa when she had confessed to him she was having problems conceiving. Years ago this was the place where he had told her their moher had died. The place where he had comforted her, where he had promised her everything would be alright.

But these were also the chambers where the course of her life had been decided by his father. Where her value had only been measured in gold and trade. Where she as a person had been taken apart, without ever have been put together again.

Before she could ponder over the past more, a sharp knock was followed by the opening of the doors. But the person that walked hrough them was a fainth shadow of her uncle Rykar. Gone were the energetic tread and proud posture that once defined him, replaced by the careful steps aided by a cane, wrinkly skin and wite hair. But his voice had not changed. It still boomed when he wanted it to, and could be soft when he needed it to.

Rykar softly stroked her hair out of her face and looked into her eyes. ** “You are back” ** he whispered, and then looked at her again with a small smile. ** “But not for me, nor for Ered Mithrin.” ** He cocked his head. ** “No, you are back for what is yours.” **

She wanted to say something, but he put a finger crooked with old age on her lips. “Rest now, we will talk in the morning.”

 

X-O-X-O

 

That night, as Emma lay in a bed she could find no rest in, Thorin sat at the balcony of their bedchamber, tilting his chair back a bit as he looked at the stars and slowly sipped from his whiskey. The burn of the drink was a welcome distraction from his thoughts, though it never lasted long enough.  He wondered if had done the right thing by letting Emma leave, if it would bring her the peace of mind she needed, or if she would spend the next five years traveling between the realms her sons resided in without ever feeling at home.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by someone softly scraping their throat. As he looked up, he saw Ferin standing in the door opening. With a subtle wave of his hand he invited him to sit, offering him his glass. After his son took a big gulp, he looked at him. “I want to talk.” Ferin said, his tone more decisive than Thorin had ever heard.

“About your amad?” he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to delay the conversation, even if it was for a few moments. His four sons just left, his wife just left, and he felt this was not a good moment to start thinking about Jessa again. But he also knew he had promised Ferin this; that Ferin needed this.

“Your mother was –“ Thorin sighed deeply and took a few moments to organize his thoughts. He wanted to tell Ferin the whole story, but not too much. “Your mother loved me for the person I was, and for that she will always have a place in my heart.” He thought back on the gifts he had presented Jessa with, and how her gaze had only fell on them for a short moment, after which it returned to him. Her eyes always hungry to see him, her hands always willing to stroke through his hair and her voice ever calming. Several times in the past decades he had wondered if she would have kept acting like that had she become his wife, or if she would have changed as he had seen so many wives do after the marriage contracts were signed and the first child was born. He had always steered away from those thoughts, not wanting to be tempted to regret his choices. Now there was no more choice.

“The why did you marry Emma?” Ferin asked through gritted teeth, and Thorin knew the moment had come that his faults had caught up with him. Emma had been angry, had done things in her rage, but nothing hurt as much as the pain he heard in Ferin’s voice. Yet he owed him honesty, not hollow words that would cover up an uncomfortable truth.

“I loved Emma more. I believed Jessa could let go of me, could find happiness at another’s side, but I was mistaken. I also thought Emma would be able to accept your and your mother’s presence here, but I was again mistaken. I have made many mistakes, and you and your mother fell victim to that.”

Ferin blew out a huff of air. “You mean you were selfish and weak. Amad never said it, she wouldn’t hear a bad word about you, but it is the truth.”

Thorin cocked his head. “Selfish, I understand. But weak?”

Ferin’s upper lip curled up and he took another large drink of whiskey. “Amad told me what Emma’s brother did to her, and how you did nothing, not even when my uncles were murdered!”

Thorin closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Even dead, Melo and his actions still tormented him. “Your amad tells me one version of what happened, Melo and Emma told me another. No one could prove anything. But you are right, I should have been more decisive then. I should have handled that trial myself and  should have put matters to rest.” His voice started to rise in helplessness. “But what can I do about it now, hmm? Who could have foreseen what was to happen?!”

Ferin did not blanch, nor did he pull away. Instead, he looked at his father with as much fire in his eyes as there had been in Thorin’s tone. “You have hurt my amad. You have broken her heart and you chose Emma over and over when you should have chosen me and my amad. You should have let us stay here, as a good father would. But you sent us away to go and live with a madman.” Ferin’s tone was cold and his features wrought into a disgruntled and dissatisfied look.

For a moment Thorin could see Jessa’s grief and sadness in his son’s unhappiness, but then the image faded away, gone forever, existing only in memories that became foggier and foggier every moment that passed. “What would you have me do, Ferin? I can not change the past, so  can not give you what you need.”

But Ferin did not know what he wanted from his father, what he wanted from this conversation, all he knew was that he did not want to live like this. He did not want to be the outsider, he did not want to feel unwanted all the time. He wanted, finally, a place he could call home.

 

X-O-X-O

 

In the morning, after a night without sleep, Emma took her rightful place on the throne of Ered Mithrin. She had never sat on the seat of power of the most northern dwarven kingdom, had never wanted to. But as the gathered nobles bowed to her, she knew it was a seat she needed to keep, a seat she was temporary caretaker of, as everything in her life seemed temporary at the moment.

Among the many nobles, was Stone. He was not as happy to see his mother as most of the other nobles were. He knew many thought him irresponsible, careless, sometimes even callous, but they did not see all of him. They saw the persona of the crown prince, and many just wanted to see their preconceived thoughts of him confirmed. But there was more of him, a side of his person very few saw. He was more observant than many thought, more caring and more loyal. And it was not that he was unhappy that his mother was here because he did not love her or resented her presence. No, he knew himself well enough that he could admit that he needed to grow up. Needed to learn to be a man. And he also knew enough that he could see that he could not do that when his mother was here. Out of love she would always try to protect him, would always try to make his life as easy as possible.

Threrin, being the younger of Emma’s sons in Ered Mithrin, wondered why his mother was here. He did not yet have the insight or maturity to see her motives, hadn’t experienced enough hardship to know what it could do to a heart of a person and hadn’t known true love yet. So he took her presence at face value, as a queen coming home to her realm to rule.

When the nobles had given their queen their welcomes, made their requests and ate and drank their fill, Emma went back to her chambers. Rykar was already there, patiently waiting for her as he looked out of the only small window the apartment had.

** “My brother was never fond of the outside world.” ** He said, his voice so soft that Emma needed to step closer to hear him properly. ** “He preferred to remain behind these walls and forget there anything beyond this kingdom.” ** He snorted. ** “Ironic that the outside world finally became his downfall.” **

Rykar turned away from the window and looked at Emma. ** “Do you know where he is?” **

Emma shook her head. Her stepfather had sporadically crossed her mind in the past decades, and she had never wondered where he was now, nor did she think about the whereabouts of her stepbrother.

** “Sindor is surely still alive.” **

**”Yes, weeds always grow when unwanted. **”Emma remarked with a dismissive raise of her eyebrow. **”What do you want to say” **

Rykar snickered. **”Everyone always says elves are patient, yet I see nothing of that in you. **”He raised his hands. **”Very well, as you wish. I have been wondering why Thorin and Threrin are here, but not Mellin. Logic and tradition dictate he will be our ruler after you go to Wait. So why is he not here to learn? “Why does Thorin deem us good enough for his heir, but not for your heir?”**

Emma took a seat in one of the sturdy chairs in the chamber and with a wave of her hand she invited her uncle to do the same. She sat rod straight, and due to their difference in height, looked down her nose at Rykar. **”For many years you have served as the de facto ruler of Ered Mithrin faithfully. It is therefore that I do not hesitate to call you uncle, even though I do not like to remember the man through whom our family connection runs. “**

Rykar bowed his head in gratitude for the accolades, but Emma hadn’t finished yet. **”However, it is my duty and priviledge to decide who my heir will be. You may consult and you may advice, but it is my decision. “**

Again Rykar bowed his head, this time in acceptance of the ruling of his queen. **”I wonder why you press this matter, uncle, as it is clear to you that Mellin is my heir?” **

Rykar smiled, knowing that his niece knew he had more to say. **”I only started wondering when Mellin went to Rivendel instead of his future kingdom. And that led me to think which other candidates there would be, in your mind.” **

Emma raised her eyebrow again, and it gave the old dwarf the confidence to continue along his winding path. **”I only wish for you to know that the throne is yours, Emma. You have rightfully received it from the crowned king. “**

**”That was before the crowned king knew he was to have a son, and when he was in a very difficult situation, out of which there was no other way.” **

Her uncle looked at her again, his watery gaze full of understanding. **”Melo, as good as he was, did not have the patience to be king. He had more of it than his father, that is true, but you know as well as I did that he spent most of his time in Erebor. Mahal in all his wisdom granted you the crown for a reason, Emma.” **

Rykar’s comments were coming too close to the part of her heart that Emma had locked away for anyone but herself, and she squinted her eyes. **”Are you saying that Melo was unfit to rule, as is his son, uncle?” ** Her voice dropped a few octaves, and Rykar knew he had to be carefull in chosing his words.

**”I am saying it was much more difficult for him than it is for you. As for his son, he is still young. His mother raised him well, we will have to see what kind of man he will be.” ** Rykar sighed. **”Though that does not always predict what kind of king he would become.” **

Emma nodded. **”Indeed, it will not. Now please excuse me, I will leave in not too much time and I wish to spend some time with my sons.” **

 

X-O-X-O

 

Emma left Ered Mithrin two days later with a heart filled with both sadness and relief. She knew she would not see her sons for five years, but she knew she could not return here. Her memories had threatened to take her down in the dark mountain, where the only lights were Stone, Threrin, Melo and Jalila.

But this time she did not travel alone. Edur had handselected a hundred of his best men, and the rhytmical pounding of their boots on the ground accompanied her all the way to her destination.


	13. Demons III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have put up two chapters tonight, so please read Demons II first if you haven't done that yet.  
> As always: feedback and comments are very much appreciated :)

“Will I ever be able to call this place my home, adad, or will I always be a guest that arouses feelings of discomfort in some?”

Thorin looked at his son and acknowledged the legitimacy of the question. In his happiness about his sons return, he had neglected to look for implications for the future. His heart had overruled his head in a way he knew a king should never allow to happen.

“Do you wish this to be your home, Ferin?”

After a slight hesitation his son nodded. “Then it is up to you to build your life here. Find what you want to do, want to learn. FInd people you wish to spend time with.” Thorin spread his arms. “This, I can give you; a house, an income, a name and a title. But to forge these things into a life, into a home, that is up to you.”

Ferin looked away, stared at the wall without seeing. “And what if your wife returns home. Amad said – “

“I told you, Ferin.” Thorin interrupted. “Do not rely on what your amad said about Emma or what Emma says about your amad. Both their words on this subject can not be trusted, and honestly, I do not even know what is true. The only thing I know is that Emma never blamed or resented you, not then and not now.”

Ferin wanted to speak, but Thorin raised his hand. “I know it must seem to you like she does now, but many other things play a part in this. Rest easy, she will not begrudge you your life here.”

 

X-O-X-O

 

Emma firmly knocked on the door, but when there was no answer and she didn’t see Lindir nor anyone else in the hallway, she pushed to door open and quietly walked into the apartment, softly closing the door behind her. She called out her father’s name several times to make sure he wasn’t at home after all, and then walked further into the room.

The first object that pulled her attention was a big and high glass box with a battered armour in it. It was as fancy as one would expect from a high elf lord, and she could see the quality in it, even in its abominal state. Several pieces of gold coloured plating ran diagonally across eachother on the breast plate, and the pattern was repeated on a smaller scale on the arm and leg plates. What was odd though was the fact that additional protection in the form of a chainmail was needed to protect the upper chest and neck and the lower part of the upper arms as there was no protective plating there. And the gold colouring seemed to be very dull, as if the whole thing was once gold plated but used too much. She squinted her eyes and looked closer, her nose nearly touching the glass.

“I wore it during the final battle.”

With a small shriek she nearly jumped up from the hunched position she had been in in order to see the armour better and she twirled around.

“You nearly scared me half to death!” Emma yelled out with her hand on her chest, trying hard to calm down but panting with fright.

“My apologies, I thought you would have liked to know the history of the object you were looking at.” Elrond said with a small, indulgant smile, before he stepped closer and hugged her.

“Yes, well, perhaps announce yourself next time! I knocked loudly and called several times but no one answered so I assumed there was no one here.” Emma said as he had let go of her

Elrond smiled kindly, but did not reply. He did not want her to know he had intended just to watch her look at the things in his appartment but had been unable to remain quiet when she frowned at his armour.

“If it is such an important object, you should take better care of it. Have it restored or something.” She said while turning back to the armour. “Get the gold plating redone and the scratches polished out.”

He stepped closer and stood next to her. “I like it the way it is; it shows the reality, not some cleaned up story soldiers tell their children.”

Elrond wondered if his daughter understood the meaning this armour held for him, if she already had enough insight in life to know that memories were more valuable than most could imagine. How the scratches and dents reminded him of the comrades lost, the alliances forged and the words broken. He hoped she would never experience what he had on that day, but he knew better. He had seen her versions of an armour in a glass box.

Emma tilted her head a bit and then looked around the room. “May I?”

He nodded and tentatively she walked to a bookshelf. But the books did not hold her attention long; glancing over them she discovered she had read most of them, though Elrond had the impressively decorated prints and she had only had worn down third hand copies. Instead she looked at the pebbles that lay on the bookshelves. They were even less impressive from up close and she wasn’t afraid to pick one up. It was a dull brown, its colour not even lightened by the small sparkle of chrystalite, but from the smooth surface she ascertained someone must have held it a lot.

“From my childhood home.” Came the softly spoken explanation from behind her, and as she felt the emotion behind the simple words, she carefully put it back in its place.

Again Elrond came to stand next to her, and he looked at the pebble for a moment. “The beaches were full with them, and at the time I only thought them to be a bother, as they made lying in the sun dreadfully painfull. But now this is the last thing I have that reminds me I once lived somewhere else.”

“Somewhere better?” Emma enquired, an inquisitive look on her face.

Elrond grimanced. “Hindsight makes us look more favourably on what we had, not what we have.”

He sighed, shaking off the memories that caused his heart to clench, even after so long. “I too wasn’t raised by my own parents, Emma. I too know the feeling of being cared for by someone who loves you less than a parent would have. Though I believe my carer was better than yours.”

Emma looked up at him with a small frown. Only now did she realise that she knew very little of her father’s history. Not that she wasn’t interested in it, but as many children she had seen her father as a one dimensional figure that always lived and always had lived in the here and now.

Elrond gave her a small smile. “Not the welcome I would have wanted to give you. Not the one you had in mind, I think.”

He saw his daughter’s eyes become clouded with tears and her bottom lip tremor with a pain she would probably not want to share. When Emma averted her face and wanted to turn her back to him, but he cupped her chin with his right hand. “I know why you are here, Emma. And you are of course welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“But?” She asked, knowing there was more to come.

“I do not pretend to know why it is Mellin you have sent here.” He laughed as he saw her expression. “I know this was not Thorin’s first choice. No, he would have wanted to strengthen the ties with the Grey Hills, perhaps even rebuild his former halls in the Blue Mountains. Yet his second son, your heir, is here. It gains him nothing, so I am tempted to think Mellin’s stay here is your idea.”

Within that small moment the mood changed, and Emma pulled her face from his hand. “If he is not welcome, then you may let me know.” She bit out, taking big, angry paces towards the door.

But Elrond stopped her, his hand tightly around her upper arm. “You know what burdens him, selde.” He said matter of factly. “Perhaps if you share this with me I can make his stay worth while.”

All fight left Emma, and Elrond felt her muscles weaken. “Just – just let him be. Let him be himself here.” She asked, and Elrond believed he heard a pleaying undertone in her voice. “For these few years, give him the chance to be himself.”

He nodded. “And you? When will you be yourself again?” He asked as he let go of her arm. He had learned to never give Emma the feeling she was driven in a corner; it hadn’t had any favourable results.

When he got no answer, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Come, and sit with your brothers and sister, they have much to tell you.”

 

X-O-X-O

One night, around 2 moons after Emma had arrived in Rivendel, they all had dinner together; Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, Mellin and Emma. It was copaniable, easy, and when the food was done, Emma and Elrond sat on the same vista Elrohir and Melo had sat decades ago.

Elrond put his hand on her left arm and looked at her tattoos more closely. “Did it take long?” he enquired, unfamiliar with this type of body decorations, softly tugging her arm so she would turn and he could look at her back.

“Days.” Emma answered.

“It must have hurt.” Elrond enquired further, undeterred by her short answer.

He only got a hum in response and turned his attention to her back. “If I were to guess, I would say that Mellin’s name is in the most painful place.”

Emma clenched her jaw and then looked at the ink black sky. “I do not know how it is for other parents, but I find I love all my children equally but differently.  And Mellin – Mellin is different from my other sons. Even if you just look at them.” She ran her hand through her hair. “They all look like Thorin, his hair his eyes, his manners, his thinking. All but Mellin.  He is special.”

“How?”

“He needs a little more. A little more attention, a little more help. But I am sure it will do him good, help him grow to the man he is to become.”

Elrond nodded, a little moved by the vulnerability his daughter showed. “I agree.”

“That’s why he is here. Ruling he can learn from Thorin, knowledge he can get from books. But he is here so someone can see him for what he is and acknowledge and accept that.”

Elrond smiled fainthly at her. “And I am to be that someone?”

But Emma was not in the mood for quips and jokes. She did not know how it had come to be that her mood had shifted so quickly from comfort at dinner to a sense of despair now, and it did not matter. “Just see him, adad. Accept him and make him accept himself.” She cried.

“What are you not telling me, Emma? What is it that you do not want to share?”

But Emma shook her head and went to her apartment, locking the door behind her. As her father heard the doors slamming shut, Elrond wondered what it was that Emma could not tell him. Wondered what put so much fear in her that she came here to beg him to take care of her son.

 

 

X-O-X-O

 

Elrohir watched his sister pack her few belongings. She had travelled light, somehow leaving behind the elaborate dresses and jewelry that she was accustomed to, exchanging it for practical wear. He leaned against the pillar in the room and crossed his arms. “I have been told you are leaving.”

Emma looked up and then nodded. “Yes, if I am to be back in Erebor before the snows fall, I have to leave for Lothlorien now.”

“And do you think it a good idea to go to visit the lands of Galadriel?”

Where her expression had been somewhat neutral before, she looked confused now, whereas Elrohir still smiled at her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked. “Is it not only logical that I visit Elrin as I visited my other sons?”

“ It would be.” He nodded. “It would be. But you don’t like Galadriel.”

Emme harrumphed and returned to stuffing more pieces of clothing in her bag, struggling to fit one of the dresses Elrond had had made for her in it. “If I would let people I don’t like keep me away from my sons, I would hardly ever see them.” She mumbled.

“Yes, I have heard the likeability of Thorins advisors has lessened over the years. But that is different. That is politics. This is the place your son will be staying for years to come. This is the place he will have to feel at home. Do you not think that he will feel conflicted in his loyalty if he knows you detest Galadriel?”

After that he remained quiet for a while, as he watched Emma’s packing slowing down and then stopping. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked outside through the light drapes that moved slowly in the wind.

“What are your plans if you were not to go to Lothlorien, Emma?” he asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to push her towards any decision but curious what she wanted for her future, as she had seemed so terribly lost in the time she had stayed in Rivendel.

“Perhaps I should just return home.” She answered in a tone that betrayed she felt somewhat defeated.

“And what will you do there?” Elrohir enquired, relieved that he had managed to gently steer her away from continuing her journey. He loved his grandmother dearly, but Galadriel in her natural environment would not have been a good match with Emma on edge, and he had feared relations between Lothlorien and Erebor would be broken beyond repair if the two were to meet.

His sister sighed, a sigh that seemed to come from the tip of her toes. A sigh that made him want to stand next to her and just hold her tightly. But he waited. The right time for comfort would yet come. Now was the time to build strength.

“I once made Thorin a promise. After Threrin and Elrin were born he made me vow not to have any more children. The thought has not really crossed my mind since then, yet I am not too old. Perhaps Thorin will release me of my vow.”

Elrohir closed his eyes for a moment, letting the darkness behind his eyelids wash over him. Maybe the time for comfort had come sooner than he had expected.


	14. Demons IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oeoeoeoeh, another cliffhanger!! Whomever guesses first what the whole Mellin-Emma drama is about may request a (small) plotline which I will (within reason) work into the story :)

_“You should have told me.”_

 

He had been sitting in council when the crow arrived, Ferin standing behind him to his left, observing the proceedings. Perhaps, when Stone took the throne here and Mell would go to the Grey Hills, Ferin could be advisor to Stone. A legitimate place in which his parentage would not be of great matter. Not so for the Grey Hills though. Relations had been strained, even more so now Emma was neither in Erebor or Ered Mithrin to temper the ever rising grudges that especially Melo seemed to carry.

But that was not what Thorin about when he read the short note. From the fact it was a crow delivering it and not a raven, he knew it was from Emma. Yet it was not one of the updates he had expected. Instead it was another sign that the deeds of his past were catching up on him.

A cold shiver ran up his spine, and he brusquely got up and walked out of the room, leaving the council in confusion.

Once he had reached his study and had sat down with a whiskey, he thought back to 25 years ago. He thought back on how he had felt when he had feared he would loose his wife. And to his shame all he could feel was the relief he had felt back then when he found her alive lying in their bed. She had just survived a difficult birth and hadn’t even held her babies yet. It hadn’t been the moment to tell her she could never have more. And somehow that moment had never come, thought perhaps he had found the message too difficult to actually find the right moment.

But the moment had come nonetheless, in a most inconvenient time, beyond his control. He closed his eyes and tried to supress the doubts that were washing over him, and the intruding question whether Emma would return or not. Perhaps he should let it go, and let come what would come without trying to control it.

A soft knock on the door preluded the entrance of Ferin. His son had been getting more and more comfortable in Erebor and acted less like a guest and more like he belonged here. So he did no longer wait to be called in by his father, but not yet just barged in without knocking like his other sons did. He hoped that day would come once.

“Are you alright, adad?” Ferin asked as he carefully approached his father.

Thorin gave him a small nod. “These past moons it seems that it is my time to give reckoning for my past deeds.”

 

X-O-X-O

 

It had been two moons since he had received the short note. Two moons without any word from Emma nor from anyone in Rivendel. He had contemplated writing to Mellin about it, ask him how his mother was doing, but he hadn’t wanted to put him in the middle of their disagreement. Thorin wasn’t even sure there was a disagreement. For now, there was only silence. That did not mean he did not know what Emma was doing however. His scouts and informants had sent word that she had remained in Rivendel untill three days ago, when she had set out to ride back to Erebor. He wondered why she didn’t go to Lothlorien as she had planned.

Standing in front of the gates of Erebor, his eye and mind were only trained on the horizon, not on Emma’s changed travelling plans. An honour guard stood on both sides of the road as far as the eye could reach to welcome back their queen, as Thorin had explained it tot he regiments. In reality he had ordered it to be done to show his wife that she was as appreciated as ever in Erebor, that her position had not diminished by either the departure of her sons or the arrival of Ferin.

As he saw a lone figure astride a horse entering Erebor’s lands, he wondered if it would work.

 

X-O-X-O

 

Elrond had expected his grandson to come to him at some point during his stay, to confide in him or perhaps ask for his advice, but he had not expected Mellin to come so soon. It was mere hours after Emma had departed from Rivendel when the hesitant knock on the door of his study told him hsi questions about Emma’s near desperation, fear even, would find themselves answered.

“Adu? Could we—could we talk?”

Elrond looked up from the papers he had been trying to study and saw Mellin standing in the doorway, looking down at his feet. He got up and opened the doors to the terrace, beckoning Mellin to follow him. He brought a pitcher of water out, and some small snacks to nibble on. Not that he believed either of them was particularily hungry, but he knew Mellin needed to gather his thoughts a bit.

When he was finally seated on the stone bench next to his grandson, he looked at him. “What do you wish to discuss, sion?”

Mellin took a deep breath, and then slowly released it. “Can you—can you tell me about my uncle Melo?” He asked in a soft tone.

The lord of Rivendel looked at his grandson for a moment. “Has anyone ever told you anything of your uncle Melo?” He asked, wondering where this question came from and if it was a good idea to tell the story.

Mellin nodded hesitantly. “Amad told us a little bit. She said he was a hero and the best person to have ever lived. And then Ferin once wanted to say something about him, but he changed his mind.”

Elrond nodded. “Yes, well, you will get very different stories if you ask around about your uncle.”

Mellin winced, but remained quiet after that, waiting for his grandfather to say something.  It turned out he had to wait quite a while, as memories from long ago had to be dug up and sifted through, selecting those that could be shared, and those that had to remain a memory.

“I will not tell you everything, Mellin. Some stories are not for me to share, and some are tainted by my own opinions.” Elrond started, and then he, to Mellin’s surprise, ran his hand through his hair. His grandfather’s hair always fell exactly as it should, and he had never, ever seen him touch it. It only made him anticipate the story that was to come more.

“If you ask your mother, she will tell you her brother saved her. She will tell you he would have been the saviour of the world, had he not been murdered.” He started, and then fell silent again, thinking of how to phrase other people’s opinions. He couldn’t quite figure it out, so he decided to elborate on Emma’s view on Melo further.

“As you know, Emma did not live with me when she was young, but with Melo’s father. Let’s just say he wasn’t good to her, and Melo was the only one to care for her.” He memories swirled through his head again, and he had to strain himself to push them back, to not tell his grandson the whole sordid history.

“Anyway, then she married your adad, and Melo also came to Erebor in her support.”

Mellin frowned. “Why did she need his support?”

He saw a frown of pain flashing over Elrond’s face, and for a second he wished he had not asked his question, but as soon as it had appeared, it disappeared. “Lets just say everything was new to her. However, then accusations were made against your uncle. Your mother will tell you they are false accusations, others swear them to be true. But whatever the truth may be, they eventually led to your uncle being murdered, by Ferin’s mother’s husband.”

Elrond nearly audibly winced at how he had compressed years of emotions, pain and hurt into a few, dry sentences. He did not do the story justice, he just did not have it in him to tell the whole tale.

“What would someone else tell me about uncle Melo?” His grandson tentatively asked.

“That would depend on who you ask. If you ask me, I would say he was a good man that cared for your mother more than anyone else, but that he had a temper that rose too easily and a mean streak. He could be the most loyal of friends, but he could also be a rotten bastard.” Saying those last two words, the scene in Emma’s chambers a week after she marriage played crystal clear in front of his eyes. How Melo had cruelly sent away his own mother, using her as a pawn. It did not matter now, none of it did anymore. Not with what was to come.

“What if I had asked Ferin’s amad about him?” From the tone in which the question was spoken, Elrond knew Mellin was fully aware he was stepping on dangerous grounds, yet he could not resist.

And so Elrond looked him straight in the eye. “Jessa would have told you Melo raped her when she was pregnant, that he killed her brothers and that the best thing her husband did was kill him.”

Mellin swallowed thickly, his eyes wide in either surprise or fear, Elrond did not know.

“If—if that is true…” Mellin started, but then he fell silent again. “I thought he perhaps---“

Elrond was getting intrigued. The conversation already hadn’t gone as he had expected, but now it seemed his conversation partner also hadn’t expected this.

“But amad loved him anyway, not matter what he did, or didn’t?”

Elrond nodded. “Yes. He didn’t always do what she wanted or liked, but she loved him anyway. No matter what.”

“Do you think amad can love other people like that? Without caring what they do, I mean.”

Of this, Elrond was very sure and he could answer without any hesitation or doubt. “Yes. Your amad does not love quickly or easily, but once she loves, her love is loyal.”


	15. Demons V

“The truth, Ferin? You want the whole truth?”

They were sitting at the dining table, Thorin, Emma and Ferin. Thorin had planned to have dinner in the dining hall, perhaps hoping to lessen the tension he anticipated a bit. But Emma prefered dinner in their apartment. And then Ferin had walked in, just as Thorin was about to say something about her last letter.

He did not quite know how they ended up talking about Jessa, all he knew that Ferin was getting more and more upset and a bitter frown had formed around Emma’s mouth. On the one hand he wanted the whole story to be told, was even curious as to what Emma had to say about it, but on the other hand he wanted to bury the whole history, try to build something from the here and now.

Ferin frustratedly threw his napkin on the table. “And you’re going to give it to me?” he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Emma nodded with a mocking smile. “Aye, I’l give it to you.”

She took another sip of mead and then looked straight at him. “Your mother wanted Thorin, but she didn’t have him. Instead of looking at herself and thinking that perhaps she had wanted too much, or looking at Thorin and blaming him for her disappointment, she blamed me. She blamed me for stealing Thorin and she blamed me that you were born a bastard.”

Emma let out a dry laugh. “And that was after she got pregnant op purpose in an attempt to keep Thorin, it must have been a real disappointment.”

Thorin recognized that this was no longer just telling Ferin the thruth, it was plain mean, torturing a lad that had just lost his mother. So he got up with the intention of ending the conversation, sending Ferin to his apartment and Emma to bed after her journey. But his son did not take his eyes off Emma. “I want to hear the rest.” He said through gritted teeth.

Emma still had an arrogant smile, her disdain nearly palpable. Yet she nodded. “Her father did not want the disgrace that she was to live with him, so she came here, to Erebor. Just in time to see Thorin propose to me.” She turned to her husband. “I have always wondered why you did that, was it for her to see or just a coincidence?”

He did not have time to answer, as Emma turned back to her stepson. “She could have just lived here in peace, see Thorin sometimes, build a life with you. But that wasn’t enough for her. So she deviced a plan to get rid of me. A really good plan, come to think of it. She had spent the evening of Durin’s Day with Thorin. Naked, if I may add. She claimed that my brother raped her when she walked home. Lies, of course, but enough to grant her a trial. The only thing she hadn’t counted on was that I judged the trial. You see, Thorin was still tired from drinking too much and doing your mother, so he sent me.”

Thorin closed his eyes as Emma so crudely recounted the history. But she kept going, relentlessly.”I knew my brother was innocent, and I judged accordingly. There was no evidence anything even happened to her, but even more evidence she had an alterior motive.” Emma scoffed. “You can probably imagine what Thorin did when he found out. Or maybe not, as it is rather shameful. But anyway, he left me. He left me and moved in with your mother, and then you were born.”

Emma waved her hand and emptied her cup. Around the tenth or eleventh, Thorin estimated, judging by how she started to slur. “And about a moon later there was a treaty meeting, here in Erebor. Your uncles, your mother’s brothers, thought that would be a good time to get revenge for what they believed happened to your mother and attack me, right when my brother saw. Stupid, really stupid. He cut off their heads and offered them up to me. He was a really good man, Melo was. Now, you would think that was the end of it, that she would understand she was defeated, but your mother was too silly, even for that. Do you know what Kili called her, by the way? He called her –”

“Enough!” Thorin bellowed as he hit the table with his fist, startling both Emma and Ferin. “Enough.” He repeated, but much calmer. “Is this really called for, Emma? Do you really need to be so hurtfull?”

Emma shrugged. “He wanted the whole story, I am just illustrating that his mother was so studpid that even Kili called her a giggling git.”

He closed his eyes and then looked at Ferin. “What happened then?” his son asked Emma.

“She then appeared before Thorin in the throneroom and demanded he keep his promiss by arranging her a noble husband. She had Fili or Kili in mind. She actually thought that it would be completely acceptable if she married one of them and have them raise their uncle’s bastard and join the royal family. I disagreed. The fact that Thorin got her Dain’s son was little consolation to her, so she kept defying me. Gossip, wearing white at my four month ball, getting Dis to tell on me to Thorin. But that wasn’t the worst of it, if only it had been.” Emma fell silent for a moment, but then poured herself another drink and finished it in one big gulp. “She had her husband kill my brother. And do you know when she had him do this? When I announced my first pregnancy. When we announced that Thorin would finally get his long awaited heirs. Thorin did not blame her, of course. He was never really able to see what she was really like. So she could just go on and on with her malicious gossip. Untill I had enough of it. I made a deal with Dain that involved your mother going to the Iron Hills. And now we come to what you really want to know, isn’t it, Ferin?”

Emma looked at him taxating, her head tilted a little. “You want to know why I sent you away, so you can decide how angry to be with me.” For a moment she looked at Thorin, almost as if to defy him, but then she looked back to her stepson. “The irony is that I never mentioned you in the deal with Dain. I never said you had to leave Erebor. It was your adad that made you leave. Just as he did with his real sons.”

Ferin jumped up, toppling over his chair in the process, and stormed out of the apartment, slamming doors shut behind him.

Thorin ran his hands over his face. “Did you really have to, Emma? Was this really necessary?” he asked, already wondering how it would ever be possible for Emma and Ferin to mend this. “Why do you always feel the need to make others suffer if you do?”

But Emma had already left the room.

 

X-O-X-O

“Ferin” She whispered his name and slowly shook his shoulder. When he slowly opened his eyes, she whispered: “I did not tell you the whole truth.”

He sat up and pulled the blankets up a bit. “What did you not tell me?”

Emma sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. “I did not tell you that your mother genuinely loved Thorin. He was her One, but faith was cruel and she wasn’t his. She was disappointed in that. I imagined that she thought that Thorin felt forced to marry me, for politics and such. And that she still had a chance. Not as his wife, but as his love.”

She saw Ferin grab on to his sheets tighter. “I also did not tell you why Thorin sent you to go with your mother. He merely believed that a mother would take better care for a child than a father, so he decided that you would return when you were twelve. Perhaps they thought I would have calmed down enough by that time that I would allow her to return with you. He was upset for a very long time after you left, Ferin.”

“Amad was sick, I could not leave her.” Ferin said with a thick voice. Without consciously deciding to do so, without thinking of what he would think of her, Emma took Ferin’s hand in hers. “He loves you, Ferin, and so did your amad.”

Her stepson then looked at her. “And you?”

Emma gave him a small smile. “The truth, Ferin? I do not know you. I saw you a handful of times when you were a child, but that was it. And when I look at you now, I see my dead brother and my husband being angry for years because he felt you were better off with your mother, whom I sent away.”

It was quiet for a while, neither of them knowing what to say after that. When Emma was getting up from the bed, Ferin held her hand a little tighter. “But am I welcome here?’

Emma nodded. “You are.”


End file.
